


The Erstwhile Heiress

by MaryRoyale



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mutants, F/M, NaNoWriMo, Rough Trade, Tower & Hive/Darkover/Valdemar blend of mental gifts, canon-level violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2019-11-17 21:36:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 41,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18106934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryRoyale/pseuds/MaryRoyale
Summary: Once Hermione McGonagall had been the envy of Albion--Heiress to two Noble Houses and betrothed to the Heir to Gryffindor--but all that had slipped through her fingers when she failed to Manifest. Years later, an invitation to the reopening of Slytherin Tower might change everything.





	1. The Spine

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for NaNoWriMo 2018 on the Rough Trade website. The theme for that year was a Mutant AU. I chose to go with mental or psionic powers because reasons. I grew up reading McCaffery, Zimmer Bradley, and Lackey-- and I'm sure they've influenced me in ways I don't even know. 
> 
> In this world, people Manifest their psionic powers at puberty. They are sent one of four Towers (Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin) to be trained in their gifts. The House of Gryffindor rules this Alternate Universe Albion, and the king of Albion is always Gifted. His spouse must also be Gifted because there are special artefacts which they can wield in defense of Albion. 
> 
> Also, Hermione is a McGonagall. I love Minerva McGonagall as her mother. 
> 
> Huge thanks and big hugs to my beta-- Auntie_L!

 

 

**Chapter One: The Spine**

 

An arm was slung about Hermione’s waist, and soft, whuffling snores tickled the back of her neck. With a groan, Hermione rolled away from the too-hot presence at her back and sat up. Ever since the end of the Tower war, sleep had been elusive, at best. Too many memories pressed in on her dreams, and she would wake up crying or in a cold sweat. Hermione rubbed a tired hand over her face.

“You want a cup of tea, Lady Hermione?” A quiet voice asked.

Squinting in the darkness, Hermione could make out the slender frame of one of the younger members of their group. One of Fay’s then. They were always very formal with her—no matter how much she protested.

“Sure,” she agreed in an equally quiet voice. “I’m awake now, whether I want to be or not.”

His economy of movement was graceful in its own way, and Hermione watched the Dunbar man fix her tea in a battered metal cup. She took it gratefully with a murmur of thanks and a nod.

“Where are we headed today, your ladyship?” The Dunbar lad asked.

“We’re headed to check on some crofters,” Hermione murmured. She blew on her tea and took a tentative sip. “We haven’t heard from them since last fall, and Herself is starting to worry.”

“The McGonagall’s worried about crofters?” Fay’s man sounded surprised.

“Look, what’s your name lad?” Hermione demanded. 

“Tearlach, your ladyship,” he offered hesitantly.

“Tearlach,” she repeated, trying to commit the lad’s name to memory. “You grew up here, in the Spine. You know how unforgiving our winters can be.”

“Aye, your ladyship,” the lad agreed. “But couldn’t we just send some gliders to go check on them?”

“Gliders don’t do well when they get too high into the Spine. Ice forms on the wings and the pilots end up crashing,” Hermione explained with a shake of her head. She sighed then, feeling ancient compared to the boy who sat across the fire. “Not every problem can be solved with a Gift, Tearlach.”

Far too often, people’s gut reaction to any situation was to have someone Gifted take care of it. In the past, it would have taken money or power to have the Gifted of the Towers at one’s beck and call, but the War had focussed everyone on more immediate issues. In the mountains that made up the Spine of Albion, there had never been a lot of money or power, and they had often had to find other ways to do what had to be done.

The lad made a sound in his throat that was half-scoff and half-agreement.

“Having a Gift certainly never helped me,” he muttered. Hermione froze for just a moment.

“What’s your Gift?” She asked gently.

Once or twice, she had met people who seemed to have an almost worthless Gift. The Towers had given them minimal training and then gently pushed them back out into the world. Sometimes it had seemed to Hermione that being Gifted could be more trouble than it was worth. That thought was small, cold comfort most days.

“Um… I, erm, make things moist?” Tearlach muttered.

“You _what_?” Hermione asked, not quite believing what she’d heard.

“I have hydrokinesis, but it’s so weak that I…,” here Tearlach trailed off and fell silent.

“You make things moist,” Hermione filled in for him. She bit her lip until she could taste blood. Laughing at the poor lad wouldn’t help. It wasn’t as though she were any better off.

“Yes, your ladyship,” Tearlach sighed heavily.

“Her’ione?” Fay’s sleep-addled voice drifted over to the fire.

“I’m here, Fay,” Hermione called as softly as she could so that she wouldn’t wake any of the rest of their party.

“’S cold,” Fay whined.

“You snore,” Hermione countered drily.

Next to her, Tearlach laughed softly.

“Did you sleep at all?” Fay whispered harshly. She wrapped her blankets about her shoulders like a shawl and crept closer to the fire. “Tearlach, did she sleep?”

“Aye, Lady Fay,” Tearlach reported dutifully. “Her ladyship woke just a wee bit ago.”

“Let’s get the fire going again,” Fay sighed. “We need to get porridge and strong tea going for this lot.”

After breakfast, they saddled up the sturdy mountain ponies that the McGonagall had chosen for them, and headed higher up into the Spine than Hermione had been in a long, long time. Nerves had her looking over her shoulder at every noise, and finally Fay manoeuvered her pony so that they were riding as close together as they could given the narrow trails.

“Something bothering you, my lady?” Fay asked cautiously, her voice low.

“No,” Hermione sighed.

“ _Cac_ ,” Fay spat. She took a deep breath and then sighed. “When you get a feeling, it’s just as good as a Gift, my lady. So again, is there something bothering you?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione confessed. “I feel… odd. Like we’re being watched or something, but I know that’s mad because there’s no way for anyone to watch us up here.”

Fay’s lips pressed together. “They could if they were using someone who had a strong Gift for Telesthesia.”

“I haven’t felt watched at all until we made it to Hogwarts pass,” Hermione protested. “And you know I can’t sense the Gifted.”

“No, you can’t,” Fay agreed. She closed her fingers around the pommel of her knife. “Maybe an animal-speaker?”

“Maybe,” Hermione agreed reluctantly.

The way her people believed in her was frightening. Hermione was Ungifted. She didn’t have telepathy or telekinesis or telesthesia. She didn’t have any powers at all, but if she told her people she had a bad feeling about something—they paid attention.

With a soft cluck to her pony, Fay moved ahead on the trail. Oliver Wood dropped back to Hermione’s position. She watched the ripple move up the length of their party. Postures straightened. Heads swivelled. Eyes began to track every movement. Fingers twitched and wrapped around sword or knife pommels.

“You have a feeling, Young McGonagall?” Oliver asked quietly.

“Aye, I do,” Hermione replied.

“That doesn’t bode well for our crofters,” Oliver murmured.

“I could be wrong.” It was important, she thought, to remind them of that fact.

Oliver made a grunt of disagreement, and untied the safety strap that secured his axe to his pony’s saddle. Long hours in the saddle riding McGonagall lands made his movements graceful.

“I trust your gut over anyone else’s Gift, Young McGonagall,” Oliver said with a lazy shrug.

“All of you are ridiculous,” Hermione groused as she pulled her long dirk out of its sheath.

The ride to the cluster of crofters’ cottages was tense. The party paused above the glen, and two members slid off of their ponies and melted into the underbrush, the muted colours of their tartan acting as camouflage. The rest of them waited impatiently. Fay drummed her fingers against the pommel of her sword. The hair on the back of Hermione’s neck prickled, and she slid off her pony gripping her long dirk tightly.

Mist began to creep along the ground, moving closer and closer. Anxiety rolled over Hermione and she hissed in irritation. Something wasn’t right. She took a deep breath and tried to settle her mind. Mist didn’t creep like that, not this time of the day, and not this time of the year. That meant only one thing.

“They’ve got at least one strong telepath,” Hermione bit out.

“An empath, too,” Oliver replied. He paused and scowled at the mist. “Hopefully not a telempath.”

“Wouldn’t it be better if there are fewer Gifted?” Hermione asked. Oliver shook his head.

“If they’ve got telepathy _and_ empathy?” He turned to look at her solemnly. “Then we might be dealing with a Prime.”

A shiver of trepidation went down Hermione’s spine. Most of her experience with Primes had been as a child. She had fond memories of the Gifted who wielded incredible power in service to the Towers or the Crown. If there were Primes hiding in this tiny glen, they were traitors to the Crown and renegades from the Towers.

One of the scouts slid out from behind a tree, a grim look on his face. Fay’s expression tightened and she pulled the sword strapped to her back so that she now held her short sword and a longsword. Hermione automatically pulled out her longsword and moved closer to Fay, longsword in one hand, dirk in the other.

“Well?” She demanded.

“Five of them,” Fay whispered as the party gathered close. She glanced at Oliver. “It’s possible that one of them is a Prime.”

“Death Eaters?” Hermione whispered, turning to glance at the scout.

“Aye, my lady,” the scout affirmed.

“The crofters?” Hermione demanded.

The corners of the scout’s mouth turned down. “Dead,” he admitted. “The entire family.”

A quick sweeping glance took in the entire party.

“The Crown has declared that the Death Eater faction of Slytherin Tower are traitors to Albion,” Hermione reminded all of them. “Ideally, we must try to capture them and turn them over to the Crown for trial.”

“Heard and Understood, my lady,” Fay murmured. She locked eyes with her own people. “Capture them if we can, but don’t risk yourselves. If any of you can identify one of them as a Prime, then grab my attention, or Oliver’s. Do _not_ attempt to engage with a rogue Prime.”

Soft murmurs of assent rippled around them. Then everyone slid into the trees, blending into the foliage as they crept into the glen. Fay stuck close to Hermione, but she was used to Fay’s fierce protection. They slipped from tree to tree, moving closer and closer to the crofters’ cottages. Hermione tried to keep her mind calm, like pool of water in a mountain glen. Strong emotion might draw undue attention.

The battle cry of the Dunbars and the McGonagalls rang out in the glen as the clans whirled into furious action. Men and women jumped and spun, their weapons flashing in the sunlight. Hermione tried to move forward so that she could engage the enemy herself, but she was blocked at every turn by a Dunbar or a McGonagall.  The fact that she couldn’t get anywhere near the actual fighting was not lost on her. She glared at Fay.

“I do know how to fight, you know,” Hermione snapped. She tossed her braids over her shoulder. “Some people think I’m pretty good at it.”

“If I let you anywhere near these crazy bastards, and one of them managed to get a hit in, do you think they’d live long enough for a trial?” Fay retorted with an arched eyebrow. “The king would _have_ to kill them, or the prince would flay the skin from their bodies in the middle of the court.”

“Don’t, Fay,” Hermione said flatly, the warning clear in her voice.

Normally, Fay would never dream of poking that wound. The dissolving of Hermione’s betrothal to Harry, Heir of Gryffindor, when she failed to Manifest a Gift had been a source of private pain. Most of her friends and family avoided any possible mention, to protect Hermione.

“It’s been ten years,” Fay reminded Hermione. “He hasn’t married anyone in all that time.”

“There was a war on,” Hermione pointed out, ignoring the way her chest tightened at Fay’s words.

“It’s officially been over for almost three years,” Fay reminded her. Hermione wrinkled her nose.

“Three years we’ve spent digging damned Death Eaters out of the Spine,” Hermione protested. She shook her head. “Let it go, Fay.”

Fay turned away, muttering something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like _I will if you will, my Lady_. Hermione glared at her vassal’s back.

 

 

/\/\/\/\/\

 

 

When a tired, bedraggled group of McGonagalls and Dunbars rode into the bailey of Catspaw, Hermione expected to see her mother waiting impatiently, tapping her foot. There were people bustling around with purpose, moving as they would on any other day, but Minerva McGonagall, the McGonagall of Catspaw, was nowhere to be seen.

“Hamish! Where’s Herself?” Hermione demanded when they reached the stables.

The stable master strolled to her side with one of his newest stable boys following after him. Young Sachairi was almost bouncing in place, he was that excited. Hamish glanced down at him and sighed.

“Got a visitor,” Hamish explained as he took the reins to her pony.

“Who?” Hermione asked with a frown.

“Dunno,” Hamish replied with a shrug.

“It was a Tower runner,” Sachairi told them eagerly. “I saw the pendant she wore!”

“A Tower runner?” Hermione repeated. She turned to Fay and frowned. “Why would the Towers be interested in Catspaw?”

If anywhere in Albion could be considered isolated and remote—removed from the Towers and the court of Albion’s Gryffindor Palace—it was the Spine of Albion. Catspaw, the seat of the McGonagall clan, hidden away in the recesses of the Spine, was very nearly inaccessible, which was just how the McGonagalls liked it.

“Let’s go find out,” Fay suggested.

“We need to see to the traitors first,” Hermione reminded her. “We’ve got a couple of rooms in the dungeon that dampen Gifts. They can cool their heels there until the Royal Guard can come fetch them.”

After the Death Eaters were secured and placed under guard, Hermione retreated to her rooms. Being on the road for weeks had left her filthy, and she wanted nothing more than a long, hot bath. In the privacy of her bath, Hermione was willing to admit that avoiding anyone from the Towers was an added bonus.

No one could ever accuse Hermione McGonagall of being stupid. She knew how the court and the Tower workers viewed her. It wasn’t a _bad_ thing to be Ungifted. The gods knew that a good percentage of the people of Albion were Ungifted. The problem was that _Hermione McGonagall_ was Ungifted.

The Houses of Ross and Urquart each had long histories of consistently producing Gifted children. The McGonagall clan, as a cadet branch of both houses, had always had Gifted children. It had seemed a safe bet—a sure thing—for the House of Gryffindor to betrothe their heir to the heiress of Ross and Urquart.

When Harry had Manifested at 13 years old, everyone assumed that Hermione would follow soon after, and they’d both set off for the Towers and their required training. A year passed, and then another. Hermione turned 18, but she never Manifested. Harry’s unshakable faith in her eventual Manifestation had been touching–until the Houses of Ross and Urquart decided that enough had been enough.

“Lady Hermione?” Fay called. Hermione shook herself, pushing away the memories that crowded in on her.

“I’m in the bath,” Hermione called back. Fay poked her head into the bathroom and frowned at Hermione.

“You’ve been in here for ages. Herself wants to know where you are,” Fay admonished her.

“Fine,” she groaned. “Tell her I’ll be right down.”

“Wet hair and all, she said,” Fay told her firmly.

“That will look charming,” Hermione huffed. “It will be great gossip for the Towers.”

“Get dressed and stop whinging,” Fay said.

“You are a horrible vassal,” Hermione grumbled as she moved to get out of the tub.

“I’m the worst,” Fay agreed cheerfully. “Now shift your arse.”

Reluctantly, Hermione made her way to the Great Hall. Minerva was sitting in front of the fire in her favourite chair. Next to her, seated in one of the only other chairs in the Great Hall, was a slender woman dressed in the uniform of a Tower Runner. As Hermione drew closer, she realized that the woman’s uniform was trimmed in the silver and green of Slytherin Tower. Hermione frowned and turned to look at her mother.

“Hermione, this is Tracey of Slytherin Tower,” Lady Minerva, the McGonagall of Catspaw, introduced the runner. “Miss Davis, this is my daughter and heir, Lady Hermione, the Young McGonagall.”

“It’s my pleasure, Miss Davis,” Hermione said with a nod. “What brings you to Catspaw?”

“The reconstruction of Slytherin Tower is finally complete,” Lady Minerva explained. “We have been invited to the rededication ceremony.”

“ _We_ have?” Hermione’s voice rose in shocked surprise. Lady Minerva’s lips tightened into a firm line and she frowned at her daughter.

The truth was that there had been few occasions for balls or fêtes of any sort during the war. Few invitations had found their way to Catspaw, and after a couple of disastrous experiences, House McGonagall had begun to politely decline them. Eventually, the invitations had stopped coming. Hermione didn’t think they’d received _any_ in the last five years or so.

“The new Mistress of Slytherin Tower is _Donata_ Sinistra. We trained together in the Towers, and she wrote a personal note on the invitation,” Lady Minerva explained. She shifted in her chair. “The _Donata_ is a friend, Hermione, and she has personally asked for my support in this matter.”

“Mum.” Hermione stared at her mother in horror.

“You know that there is still a lot of bad feeling about Slytherin Tower. Some argued that it should never have been rebuilt,” Lady Minerva reminded her. “It took the joint efforts of everyone in Albion to make this happen. This event is being viewed as a way to help Albion heal.”

“I could stay here,” Hermione suggested. She waved a hand around her. “I could make sure that Catspaw runs smoothly while you’re gone. We could consider it a learning experience for me.”

“It’s been long enough, Hermione,” Lady Minerva insisted. “I put up with it during the war, but no longer. You’ve done nothing wrong. You don’t need to hide in the Spine for the rest of your life.”

“Mum, you know that half the court will be there,” Hermione protested.

“Exactly,” Lady Minerva said with an air of satisfaction. “Let them see that the Young McGonagall is the pride of the Spine.”

“ _Mum_ ,” Hermione tried again.

“We leave in the morning, Hermione,” Lady Minerva informed her in a voice that brooked no argument. “Fay’s packing your things.”

“Why do we need to go?” Hermione protested. “We’re a tiny cadet branch—half the time people forget House McGonagall even exists!”

“Not in the Spine they don’t,” The Tower Runner said with a snort. She looked Hermione over thoughtfully. “I half-expected you to glow with an angelic light or something.”

“Don’t be silly,” Hermione retorted. “That’s Mum.”

“Hermione,” Lady Minerva sighed. “Why are you being so difficult about this?”

“Remember the one ball we attended during the war?” Hermione reminded her mother. “That horrid little girl kept following me around, and if anyone I knew tried to speak to me, she would announce in a loud voice that she was the new heir to Ross, and that they should talk to her instead.” Hermione grimaced. “It was humiliating.”

Lady Minerva sighed heavily. “I spoke to Elinor Ross, and to Ginevra’s mother. Ross does have other choices available.”

“If she pulls that kind of stunt at Slytherin Tower, I won’t be responsible for my actions, Mum,” Hermione warned her mother. “I’m not above challenging her to a duel.”

“If the chit is stupid enough to behave like that at the rededication of Slytherin Tower, you have my permission to defend the honour of McGonagall,” Lady Minerva sighed.

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” Hermione pouted at her mother. Lady Minerva took her daughter’s hand and squeezed her fingers gently.

“It will be Slytherin Tower,” Lady Minerva reminded her. “Most of them will have come from the plains and the fens. You know that Gifted from the Spine usually go to Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. Anyone who might have been at court would have been involved with Riddle’s renegade faction.”

“You believe that most of the people there won’t even know who I am,” Hermione said drily.

“I didn’t know until I got into the Spine,” Tracey Davis spoke up. She grimaced slightly. “I mean, I knew that Lady Minerva was a friend of the _Donata_ , and that she had a daughter, but I didn’t realize that you were the Heiress of Ross.”

“The former Heiress of Ross,” Hermione corrected her absently. The Tower Runner winced sympathetically.

“If it helps, I think the Lady Minerva is correct,” Tracey offered.

“It doesn’t,” Hermione muttered. She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I just…”

“I understand, Lady Hermione,” Tracey murmured. She glanced at Lady Minerva. “You mentioned a room?”

“Of course,” Lady Minerva said with a nod. She rose to her feet and looked around the hall. “Senga? Can you please show our guest to a room?”

“Yes, Lady Minerva,” the young woman murmured. She curtseyed and then gestured to Tracey. “If Miss will follow me?”

As soon as they were alone, Hermione turned to scowl at her mother.

“ _Mum_ ,” Hermione protested.

“Hermione.” Lady Minerva reached out and tucked a curl behind her daughter's ear. “My darling girl, I am asking you to do this for me.”

At that, Hermione’s shoulders slumped.

“Of course, Mum,” Hermione agreed. “Anything for you.”

“Thank you,” Lady Minerva said. She patted Hermione on the shoulder. “Go see Fay. The gods only know what she’s packed for you.”

Hermione winced. “Perhaps I’ll do that.”

“We’re leaving first thing, Hermione. Make sure you go to bed early,” Lady Minerva added as a parting shot.

“As the McGonagall commands,” Hermione said with a deep bow and a flourish.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Slytherin Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arriving at Slytherin Tower is only the beginning of Hermione's problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All love and respect for Auntie_L who is a beta among betas.

 

**Chapter Two: Slytherin Tower**

 

“Look, there it is,” Lady Minerva called over her shoulder. She gestured toward the buildings spread out below them.

“Thank the gods,” Hermione muttered to Fay.

After a week of travel, Hermione was happy to see the outline of Slytherin Tower against the sky, even if she was still reluctant about being within its walls for any length of time.

“You remember your Tower etiquette lessons, don’t you, my lady?” Fay asked quietly.

“Aye,” Hermione snapped, shooting Fay a fulminating glare. Fay winced.

“Sorry,” she replied. “It probably won’t matter. I’m sure they’ll room us all together.”

“You would know better than I,” Hermione muttered. She clucked to her horse, and moved closer to her mother. “Mum, will you need to visit with the Tower workers?”

“It will be expected,” Lady Minerva admitted. She frowned slightly as they made their way closer to Slytherin Tower. “Remember that state dinner you had to attend when you were thirteen?”

The ambassador from Bretagne had arrived just after Harry had finally recovered from Manifestation sickness; he had reacted badly and had been ill for almost a month. Hermione had stubbornly refused to leave his side while he was sick—too many whispered stories of children that died during Manifestation had haunted her—and she’d slept on a pallet on the floor by his bed until the Princess-Consort had made the Palace staff bring in a little cot.

State dinners required the most rigid etiquette, and normally Hermione had been a sweet, biddable girl who worked hard to please all the adults around her. That particular event, when Hermione still felt the gnawing fear of possibly losing Harry, she had refused to follow precedence, which seated her next to Neville Longbottom, at a lower table. It had taken the Prince-Consort and a fairly ridiculous list of bribes to convince her to do what etiquette demanded.

“Aye,” Hermione admitted reluctantly.

“It will be rather like that,” Lady Minerva explained. She glanced at her daughter. “There will probably be newly Gifted, and because of their sensitivity, and their unreliable shielding, you may be seated at a table with other Ungifted.” She hurried to add: “This isn’t meant to be disrespectful. It’s meant to protect the children and you. Some of them can project and if you haven’t any shielding at all, it can be painful.”

“I promise that I shall sit wherever they place me,” Hermione replied drily.

“Hermione, I understand how difficult this is for you, and I appreciate everything you’ve done,” Lady Minerva added.

“Of course, Mum,” Hermione muttered, a light blush colouring her cheeks.

Their arrival had been noted, and by the time their party arrived at Slytherin Tower, there was a group standing outside waiting to welcome them. Fay acted as a buffer for Hermione, getting down from her saddle quickly and hurrying to Hermione to help her dismount. With a sigh of resignation, Hermione allowed Fay to manage her. It gave her the opportunity to observe the Tower workers as they greeted her mother.

A tall woman with tawny skin and warm sepia-coloured eyes stood wearing the robes of Tower Mistress. Hermione assumed that this must be _Donata_ Sinistra. She held out her hands to the Lady Minerva, a wide, brilliant smile on her face.

“Lady Minerva,” _Donata_ Sinistra greeted her. “Welcome to Slytherin Tower.”

“Thank you, _Donata_ ,” Lady Minerva replied and took the _Donata’s_ hands. The two women embraced warmly.

“Let me show you to your rooms,” _Donata_ Sinistra said. “I’m sure you and your people must be tired after such a long trip.”

“That would be much appreciated,” Lady Minerva admitted.

Silently, Tower workers moved past them in the halls as _Donata_ Sinistra explained some of the improvements made to Slytherin Tower. Hermione listened politely and followed along, surrounded by a small, protective knot of McGonagalls and Dunbars. No one seemed to be paying them any attention, and by slow degrees, Hermione relaxed.

By the time they were shown to their rooms, Hermione was quietly amused by her mother and the Lady of Slytherin Tower as they gossiped about the people with whom they’d trained as young women. Fay and Oliver had listened with wide eyes and incredulous expressions.

“This room should suit Fay and your Hermione,” _Donata_ Sinistra said with a wave of her hand. “They’ll need to share with Daphne and Astoria Greengrass, but it shouldn’t be too cramped.”

“I’m sure it will be fine,” Lady Minerva replied smoothly. She tilted her head. “Daphne and Astoria Greengrass… did they train at Hufflepuff?”

“No, they trained at Slytherin Tower, but that was before the War,” _Donata_ Sinistra explained. She frowned slightly. “Would you like me to move them?”

“I’m sure it will be fine, Mum,” Hermione spoke up for the first time.

Hesitation and uncertainty flickered on Lady Minerva’s face for the briefest second. Officially, Hermione had no ties to the royal court of Albion. Unofficially, until the Crown Prince was betrothed to someone, or got married, she was a way to target the Crown, without directly targeting the Crown. It had been one of the reasons that the McGonagalls had retreated to their stronghold during the War.

“No, Sinistra,” Lady Minerva said at last. “Leave it as it is.”

“Very well,” Sinistra agreed. She smiled at Hermione and Fay. “There are baths available if you wish to bathe after your travels. Dinner will be served at seven. There will be a warning chime 15 minutes beforehand.”

“Thank you, _Donata_ ,” they murmured.

The rest of the group moved down the hall, but Oliver turned around to shoot a serious look in Fay’s direction. There were some strange facial contortions, and then he turned back around and followed the group down the hall.

“What on earth was that?” Hermione asked with a laugh.

“I think that was Oliver trying to subtly hint that if anything happened to you in Slytherin Tower on my watch, he was never going to let me hear the end of it,” Fay muttered.

“If it’s any consolation, my gut appears to be indifferent about Slytherin Tower,” Hermione offered as she pulled open the door to their room for the next week.

“Just don’t eat anything Daphne makes and you should be fine,” said a strange voice.

Both women whirled in surprise, each with a _sgian-achlais_ already in hand. A delicate-looking, young blonde woman stared at them with wide eyes. She held up her hands in front of her in a gesture of surrender.

“I’m sorry about that,” a second voice offered. “Story hasn’t learned that it isn’t smart to surprise strangers.”

Another blonde, similar-looking enough that Hermione supposed them to be sisters, was leaning against the wall near to the first speaker. She grinned at Hermione and winked.

“That makes you Daphne then?” Hermione guessed. The second blonde’s smile widened.

“My reputation precedes me,” she said in obvious delight.

“As what, a ridiculous flirt?” The first blonde demanded.

“Don’t be jealous, Story. It’s unattractive,” Daphne chided her sister. She turned back to Hermione. “How long will _you_ be here?”

“A week,” Fay replied for the both of them. She moved to stand protectively next to her liege lady. “Daphne and Astoria Greengrass?”

“At your service,” Daphne replied. She tilted her head slightly. “How about you two?”

“I’m Fay Dunbar,” Fay replied. She nodded toward Hermione. “This is the Lady Hermione McGonagall, the Young McGonagall of Catspaw.”

“Welcome to Slytherin Tower,” Astoria said with a polite smile.

It was obvious from both women’s expressions that they had no idea who Hermione was. Next to her, Fay relaxed and put her _sgian-achlais_ back in its sheath. Hermione did the same, relaxing her stance.

“This is going to be an interesting week,” Daphne announced to the room at large.

“You are incorrigible,” her sister Astoria grumbled.

Later at dinner, Hermione learned that Astoria Greengrass was correct. Her older sister Daphne _was_ incorrigible. She moved around the room easily, talking to different groups of people, flirting wildly as she went. Hermione watched her curiously, and then turned to look at Fay.

“I know that what happens in the Towers stays in the Towers, but…,” Hermione sputtered helplessly. 

Fay shrugged. “Daphne Greengrass has to be a talented Tower worker. They’re only going to want the best here, especially after the rededication. Anyone who can’t pull their own weight will drag down the reputation of the Tower, and that’s the last thing that Slytherin needs right now.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Hermione agreed reluctantly.

“You could always take her up on her offer,” Fay said with a wicked grin. She nudged Hermione. “It might do you some good.”

“Oh shut up,” Hermione laughed.

The next morning, Hermione woke just before sunrise. Fay was snoring in her bed, and Hermione left her to her sleep. She dressed quickly and slipped down to the kitchens to find something to eat. When she arrived in the kitchen, Oliver Wood was already sitting at a table eating. He frowned when Hermione entered the kitchen alone.

“My lady,” Oliver began with a frown. Hermione held up a hand and he fell silent.

“I’m fine, Oliver,” she told him. She turned to the cook and smiled. “May I have some of whatever he’s having?”

“Of course, dear,” the cook said with a nod.

A fresh breakfast roll and a mug of tea were set down in front of her at the table.

“Where’s Fay?” Oliver demanded.

“Snoring in our room,” Hermione replied. She turned and put her hand on Oliver’s arm. “Relax, alright? No one here knows who I am. Nothing’s going to happen.”

“I don’t like it,” Oliver grumbled.

“Look at it this way, everyone would wonder who I am if a giant detail trailed my every move. People would ask questions, and somebody would do something stupid,” Hermione pointed out. “This way, I’m just another face in the crowd.”

“You don’t have a feeling about Slytherin Tower?” Oliver asked in surprise.

“No.” Hermione shook her head. “I don’t.”

“Huh.” Oliver took a bite of his roll and chewed slowly.

“Did you assume I would?” Hermione asked curiously. Oliver shrugged.

“Wasn’t sure,” he replied. He turned to look at Hermione. “You want to go practice?”

“What, here?” Hermione asked.

“Aye,” Oliver said. “There are trainees from noble Houses all the time. They have to keep up on their other duties while they’re here.”

“Okay then,” Hermione agreed. “Let me finish this and I’ll go grab my things.”

After hours of sparring, Hermione wondered if Oliver was trying to punish her. Every muscle ached, and she was pretty certain she’d earned a bruise or two. She had made it a point to return the favour, and she watched in satisfaction as Oliver limped around the salle. They were both sweaty, and Hermione leaned against the wall as she tried to catch her breath.

“Do you yield, Wood?” Hermione panted.

Oliver groaned and rubbed his knee. “I yield, my lady.”

“Thank the gods,” Hermione said with a grin. “I need a shower, and you might need to see the Tower physician.”

“Ha!” Oliver stood up to glare at her. “I don’t need to see the bloody physician. It’s just bruised.”

“So you say,” Hermione teased.

“If you weren’t so vicious,” Oliver huffed as he began to collect his gear.

“If I weren’t vicious, you and Fay would spend the next six months complaining that I was too soft, and it would get me killed,” Hermione countered. Oliver sighed.

“Well, that’s true,” he admitted.

Once she had showered and felt much more human, Hermione went in search of Fay. No matter where Hermione looked, she couldn’t find her vassal anywhere. Confused, Hermione headed to their assigned room. Surely, Fay couldn’t still be in bed? Had she become ill? Worry quickened Hermione’s steps as she hurried to their room.

“Fay? Don’t tell me you’re still in bed—Oliver will never--,” Hermione froze in the doorway to her rooms.

Standing close to Daphne, in the middle of Hermione’s room, was her former betrothed staring at her with wide eyes. 

“Hermione,” Harry whispered.

“I’m sorry,” she managed to get out. “I—I’ll just… sorry.” She turned to leave.

“Hermione, wait!” Harry called after her. He reached out to touch her and she flinched away from him. He went still. “I just want to talk to you.”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Your Highness,” Hermione reminded him, retreating into stiff formality. Harry winced at her use of formal titles.

“I need to speak to you,” he said softly, in a voice that had always belonged to Hermione alone. “I just want to talk. That’s all.” 

Automatically, Hermione’s gaze darted to Daphne who was watching the unfolding scene with wide eyes. She wondered if Daphne were the reason that Harry wanted to clarify that he only wanted to talk. Her chest tightened and it suddenly hurt to breathe. Hermione supposed that she couldn’t blame Harry. Daphne was lovely. She had managed to completely charm Hermione in a day.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Your Highness,” Hermione replied. Her gaze slid toward Daphne again.

“Hermione!” Fay ran into their room, bumping into Hermione. “The Crown Prince is supposed to arrive today! Herself just heard and she… oh. Your Highness.” Fay bowed deeply. She frowned at Daphne and Harry, and then turned back to Hermione. “Herself wants to see you.”

“I’m coming,” Hermione sighed. She turned back to Harry. “If Your Highness will excuse me?”

“Hermione,” Harry tried again. Hermione raised her chin, and Harry’s shoulders slumped. “Of course, my lady.”

Hermione’s lips pressed tightly together. She wasn’t his lady—not anymore. Hermione gave him a perfectly executed bow before she turned on her heel and strode from the room. Fay followed her from the room, casting a glance over her shoulder as they left. 

“Why was he in your room?” Fay demanded as they hurried down the hall. “What was he doing in there with her?”

“It’s not my business,” Hermione snapped. “Neither is it yours. We don’t need to speculate about the Crown Prince.”

“Yes, my lady,” Fay murmured.

The court had arrived, or at least as much of it as could be fit into Slytherin Tower. Before dinner, everyone milled about nibbling at canapes and drinking wine. Familiar faces swirled around her in small groups, but no one seemed to recognize her. She turned to Oliver with a frown.

“Have I really changed that much,” She demanded.

“Not all that much,” Oliver said with a shrug. He glanced around the room. “But it’s been ten years since most of them have seen you.”

“His Highness recognized me,” Hermione muttered. Oliver turned to stare at her.

“Called him that to his face, did you?” He asked drily. Hermione blinked in confusion.

“What else would I call him?” Hermione protested.

“Ouch,” Oliver said with a wince.

“He is the Crown Prince of all Albion,” Hermione pointed out. “I can’t just march up to him in front of people and call him _Harry_.”

“Didn’t stop you for ten years,” Oliver reminded her.

“That was different,” she muttered. When Hermione had called him Harry, she had the right to do so. He had been hers.

“I suppose it was,” Oliver agreed reluctantly. He glanced around the room. “You need to have one of us with you at all times. With this many people here, it would be easy for a Death Eater to slip in and hide in plain sight.”

“I’ll tell Fay,” Hermione murmured in response.

The fact that her sworn man was putting his foot down and effectively giving Hermione orders was nothing new. Fay was worse than Oliver about Hermione’s safety. As the betrothed to the Heir of Gryffindor—essentially the future Queen of Albion—Hermione had spent most of her formative years with people panicking about whether or not it was safe enough for her to go to the village fair. Once she had returned to Catspaw, disinherited and heartbroken, she hadn’t wanted to go to the village fair.

“Hermione?”

Oliver shot her a look and she debated sticking her tongue out at him. Instead she turned to greet Neville Longbottom, Harry’s sworn brother.

“Your Grace,” Hermione greeted Neville politely. He rolled his eyes at her.

“Is that any way to greet the boy who gave you your first kiss?” He teased. He held his arms out to her.

With a sigh, Hermione stepped into Neville’s space and let him hug her gently. He held on until she hugged him back, and then he pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“And how is the prettiest lass in the entire Spine?” Neville asked.

Hermione smirked at him. “I’m going to tell Fay you said that.”

Neville shrugged easily. “It’s true. Now if I’d said the prettiest demon on horseback or the prettiest harridan… then the Lady Dunbar might have a valid complaint.”

Standing next to Neville was Daphne Greengrass, watching them with rapt attention. Hermione fought the urge to cringe.

“Hello again, Lady Daphne,” Hermione said with stiff formality.

The weight of Neville’s gaze was heavy. She could feel him frowning at her, and finally she turned to look at him. She arched an eyebrow and tilted her chin up.

“Hermione,” Neville began slowly.

“Daphne!” An excited squeal made Hermione wince.

An exuberant woman bounded up to them.

“Hello, Millicent,” Daphne greeted the woman. “Have you met—“

“You must be over the moon,” Millicent interrupted eagerly.

“About what?” Daphne asked with a frown.

“The Crown Prince’s engagement, of course,” Millicent replied. Hermione’s world tilted on its axis while Millicent continued. “It’s all anyone can talk about. The rumour is that the Crown plans to announce it officially after the rededication. I know that you and—”

“Have you met the Duke of Eccles?” Daphne interrupted Millicent in a loud voice. Millicent turned to stare at Neville with wide eyes.

“Your Grace,” Millicent whispered faintly.

“Miss Bulstrode,” Neville greeted her with a glacial civility that made Hermione’s earlier greeting to Daphne look warm and welcoming. “It would behoove you to keep your own counsel rather than spread rumours that have little to no basis in fact.”

“I beg your pardon, Your Grace,” Millicent said as she flushed a dull red.

“You are lucky that it wasn’t His Highness who heard you,” Neville warned her. “If he heard you speaking about,” Neville paused and glanced at Hermione. “You would pray for banishment from court.”

“If you would excuse me, Your Grace,” Hermione murmured. She could feel her pulse racing and it was getting harder and harder for her to breathe.

The reality was that Harry had to marry someone Gifted—it was his duty and obligation to the people of Albion. As a child, Hermione had accepted that, and had bound her fate to his. Her part in Harry’s fate had changed years ago, but as time had passed and Harry _hadn’t_ entertained a new betrothal, that reality had become muted. Now… the possibility that Hermione was sharing a room with Harry’s future Queen made her want to kill things.

“Hermione,” Neville protested. Hermione shook her head.

“Oliver,” she managed to get out.

“My lady!” Oliver set down his wine and grabbed her elbow. “Breathe, my lady,” he switched to Gaelic as he eased her past Neville and Daphne.

Manoeuvring carefully through the crowd, Oliver managed to steer Hermione out to the large garden that was enclosed in Slytherin Tower’s courtyard. He dragged her to the farthest corner and pushed her onto the first bench he saw. Oliver knelt at Hermione’s feet and took one of her hands in his.

“Breathe with me, my lady,” Oliver continued in Gaelic. “Count my breaths. One, two, and three…”

“One… t-two… three,” Hermione gasped.

“That’s right, Young McGonagall,” Oliver praised her. “You’re under the same sky that stretches over our Spine. See there: we can see the sword maidens of Lyonesse better here.”

“Where?” Hermione asked curiously, distracted by learning something new.

“Just there.” Oliver pointed.

“I can’t sleep in that room tonight, Oliver,” Hermione muttered in the common tongue of Albion.

“Use your Gaelic, my lady,” Oliver protested.

“I can’t sleep in that room tonight,” Hermione repeated in Gaelic.

“You’ll sleep in my room then,” Oliver said with a shrug. “Even if I slept on the floor in front of the door, I’d sleep better knowing you were among our people.”

“What about Fay?” Hermione asked with frown. Oliver snorted.

“Fay will probably have company in her bed tonight, my lady,” Oliver reminded her.

Hermione made a face at that. “Right. I’m definitely sleeping with you, then. I love Neville, but I do _not_ need to see that.” She frowned up at Oliver. “I don’t know that I’ll ever understand how you Gifted can be so blasé about it all.”

“Most of the people sent to the Towers are teenagers,” Oliver reminded her in a dry voice. “They have negligible shields, and they’re usually projecting wildly. Now imagine your average fifteen year old boy waking up and having a morning wank.”

“Oh.” Hermione’s eyes went wide and she stared at Oliver. He grimaced at her.

“One of the side effects of intensive training, especially between a Prime and their catalysts, is a sort of mental echo,” he explained. “When those teenagers end up in bed together—and believe me, it happens—their emotions bleed over into the echo.”

“I probably would not have handled that well,” Hermione admitted.

“No one handles it well,” Oliver countered. “It makes a terrific incentive to learn how to shield, and it’s a great way to test your shield’s reliability.”

“I’ll pass, thanks,” Hermione said with a shudder.

“Let’s go find Fay, my lady,” Oliver said and held out a hand to her. “I want her to know about the change to our plans.”

“Hopefully we can find her without running into His Grace or His Highness,” Hermione muttered.

Oliver shook his head. “I almost feel sorry for that man.”

“You are supposed to be _my_ vassal,” Hermione reminded him, and swatted him on the arm.

“Which is why I said _almost_ , my lady,” Oliver said with a grin.

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Communication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To move forward, Hermione needs to let go of her past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m on a trip this weekend with my sister. It’s her birthday—there will be wine and cheese and mini-putt golf.
> 
> Please forgive any formatting errors as I’m posting this from my phone. 
> 
> I am not worthy of the awesomeness that is Auntie_L, but I’m so grateful to have her.

** Chapter Three: Communication **

 

Sneaking through the halls of Slytherin Tower, Hermione slipped back into her rooms. She set her gear down in a neat pile next to her bed before she moved to collect a clean change of clothes for herself. Herself had mentioned another dinner was to take place tonight, and Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes. She’d barely survived last night. It was optimistic to assume that she’d make it through the evening without throttling someone. 

A quick glance at Fay’s bed made it clear that Fay, and probably Neville, were already up and had made their way to the kitchens for an early breakfast. Hopefully, Fay grabbed something for Hermione. They had to work the horses to keep them healthy and well-exercised, and Hermione expected that to take several hours. Completely focused on what she was doing, she was startled when she heard someone shift in the other beds. Hermione couldn’t look—she didn’t want to see that there was someone else in Daphne’s bed. 

“I’m sorry,” Daphne said softly . Hermione jumped and bit back a shriek of surprise. 

“What?” Hermione peered across the room. 

The outline of Daphne sitting up in her bed was barely  discernible in the still-dark room. Thank the gods, she appeared to be alone. Not that Hermione begrudged Daphne the comfort of another person. It was just… she was afraid to see  specific people in Daphne’s bed. 

“For Millicent,” Daphne explained. “It’s obvious that you’re friends with Harry and Neville, and it’s pretty obvious that her  behaviour offended you on their behalf.” 

“I beg your pardon?” Hermione winced when her voice rose to a near squeak.

The last thing she needed was for anyone to realize who she was, or had been. Fay and Oliver would have a collective fit about the increased threat level for Hermione’s stay at Slytherin Tower, and they would probably send home for more men. Hermione didn’t even want to think about her mother’s reaction. The McGonagall tended to frown on people who tried to kill her daughter. 

“Millicent is a good friend,” Daphne said with a sigh. “She just… she gets swept away sometimes. Slytherin Tower never had access to the court at Albion, not  the way some Towers did, and she gets a little… odd… about the fact that I know Harry.” 

“There is a level of familiarity inherent in using his highness’ given name so freely, ” Hermione pointed out stiffly. 

“I suppose so,” Daphne agreed. “During the war, there was a group of us that refused to join the traitors. They were trying to force a good friend of mine to be a Prime even though he had one of the strongest expressions of empathy  that  Slytherin Tower had seen in centuries.”

“That was a stupid decision,” Hermione muttered before she could stop herself . A startled laugh burst out from Daphne. 

“It really was,” Daphne agr eed. “We went to Gryffindor and begged asylum. I ended up working as a catalyst for Harry during the war.” 

“It is my understanding that working together as a team fosters a deep intimacy between the Prime and their catalyst,” Hermione observed quietly. 

“It does,” Daphne agreed with a heavy sigh. “I think that’s how Millicent decided that I was who the Crown was considering as an option for Harry. I’m not, just so you know.” 

“Why are you telling me any of this?” Hermione demanded. 

“I like you,” Daphne said calmly. “You strike me as the sort of woman who isn’t quite as free as some.” 

“I’m Ungifted,” Hermione retorted. “You don’t have to dance around it.” 

“Fine,” Daphne agreed. “I would love to fuck you, and I’m worried that the reputation of the Towers might scare you off.” 

“That is… very flattering,” Hermione managed to stammer. 

“Is it Oliver?” Daphne asked. “He’s rather fit. I wouldn’t mind taking you both to bed.” 

The only sound that Hermione was able to produce was a sort of strangled squeaking noise. 

“Just fuck her already,” Astoria Greengrass groaned. “But for the love of the gods could you be  quiet about it?” 

“I’m not going to have sex with anyone right now,” Hermione protested. “I came to change. Fay’s waiting downstairs for me.” 

“What are you going to do?” Daphne asked curiously.

“We’re going to exercise our horses,” Hermione replied. “There are so many people here right now that the Tower’s stables are overburdened.”

“Will you be back for lunch?” Daphne asked. Hermione was grateful for the darkness. She could feel her cheeks heating. 

“I think so,” she admitted.

“I’ll look for you then,” Daphne decided. 

“I’ll see you then.” Hermione picked up her clothes and fled her bedroom. 

Daphne’s blatant interest in her had been shocking, and it had taken her a moment to figure out why. It wasn’t as though Hermione was a blushing virgin—she was almost 30 years old. Rather, it was how she was treated in the Spine. There she was,the Young McGonagall: heir to the McGonagall of Catspaw, but it was more than that. 

The communities in the Spine were small and interconnected. Everyone in the Spine had known that one of their own, that Hermione  McGonagall was betrothed to the Heir of Gryffindor. It had been a quiet point of pride when she was younger. Even now, there was a deference that lingered. 

“What put  that look on your face?” Fay asked curiously. 

“Daphne just propositioned me,” Hermione admitted. Fay blinked at her in surprise. 

“Are you sure?” Fay waved a hand. “Don’t make that face at me. I’m not saying you’re not gorgeous , because you are. If I didn’t already live in your back pocket, I’d definitely shag you.” 

“Thank you, I think,” Hermione huffed. 

“Like you didn’t know that half my men are in love with you,” Fay scoffed. Hermione stopped and turned to stare at  Fay. 

“What?” Hermione demanded. 

“Tearlach Macreadie won’t shut up about how wonderful you are,” Fay told her. “The rest of the  Dunbars tossed him into that lake we saw on the way here.”

“I just spoke to him the one time,” Hermione protested. 

“Whatever you said made an impact,” Fay said with a shrug. She handed Hermione a waxed-cloth package.  “There’s your breakfast. Come on, Oliver’s probably waiting.” 

 

 

* * *

  


 

 

There were too many people moving through Slytherin Tower. Hermione had taken one step into the huge dining hall crowded with chattering strangers, and then she’d turned on her heel and left. With everyone in the dining hall, Hermione took the opportunity to wander through the silent Tower. 

Unfortunately, the Tower library was off-limits to Hermione . It was housed higher in the Tower and there were too many newly Gifted.  Donata Sinistra had offered to get her any title she wished, but it wasn’t the same. Part of the charm of a library was the library itself: the tangible  presence of all that knowledge in one place, the  mingled scent of books that were old and new, and the quiet corners where one could tuck oneself away and read. 

That left the Tower’s courtyard garden. Hermione wandered through the halls until she found a side door into the gardens. She slipped into the garden quietly, and made her way to the back corner that Oliver had used earlier. She sank down on the bench with a sigh. There were times that Hermione wished that she were Gifted, but she tried not to dwell on it. At the moment… telesthesia and teleportation would be handy. 

“You skipped lunch.” Daphne put her hands on her hips and frowned at Hermione. “If I didn’t know how fucking amazing I am, I might develop a complex.” 

“There were too many people in the dining hall,” Hermione sighed. She could feel her cheeks heat. “It wasn’t you.” 

“It  kind of feels like maybe it was me,” Daphne countered. She sat down on the bench next to Hermione turned so that she could face her. “Am I making you uncomfortable, Lady Hermione?” 

“Yes,” Hermione admitted. She looked away from Daphne, scanning the garden for anyone else lurking in the courtyard. “But it isn’t really your fault. It’s… I’m not used to people being so… so  bold .” 

“Bold is my specialty,” Daphne teased with a naughty little grin. “If I want something, I go after it.” 

“That is an ambitious worldview,” Hermione murmured thoughtfully. She turned back to Daphne. 

There was a guilelessness to Daphne’s personality that was seductive and charming. It would be so easy to let go and let Daphne charm her with her smile and her laugh and her teasing innuendoes. The sky-blue of Daphne’s eyes glittered at her, and the other woman leaned into Hermione’s personal space. 

“I’m going to kiss you now,” Daphne whispered against her lips.

At that, Hermione leaned forward so that her lips were pressed against Daphne’s. Hermione could feel Daphne smiling, and then Daphne’s tongue flicked against her upper lip, requesting entrance. After a moment of hesitation, Hermione opened to Daphne.  The slide of Daphne’s tongue against hers was intoxicating, and Hermione whimpered when Daphne nibbled on her lower lip. 

When Hermione pulled away reluctantly, Daphne was panting and staring at her with a glazed expression. As nice as kissing Daphne was—and it was  nice —knowing that Harry was somewhere in the Tower threw Hermione. Reluctantly, she realized that she needed to speak with him, just as much as he needed to speak to her. They needed to clear the air, or whatever it was that they needed to do. 

“You are lovely,” Hermione said carefully. Daphne’s face fell and she pulled away. 

“Thanks, but no thanks?” Daphne suggested with a brittle smile. 

“No,” Hermione protested. She reached out and put a hand on Daphne’s arm. “It’s… it’s complicated. I need to settle some things before I can… you were right about me.” 

“Which part?” Daphne asked. Hermione tried to smile, but from Daphne’s expression she knew it was more of a grimace. 

“I’m not as free as some,” Hermione replied. She shrugged helplessly. “Not quite in the way you meant, but there you are.” 

“I don’t understand,” Daphne said slowly. She frowned and touched Hermione’s cheek gently with the tips of her fingers. “I want you, you know that I do, but you live in the Spine and I… I live here. I’m not looking for some kind of long-term relationship. I’d just really love to play with you for at least a few days.” 

“I know,” Hermione reassured her. “I mean, I knew you weren’t actually looking for a permanent relationship.” She blushed again. “I didn’t know about the rest of it.” 

Daphne nodded. “The offer’s open. We have a few days left.” 

“Thank you. I… that’s very kind,” Hermione blurted out. She stood up and straightened her clothes. “You’ve been very… I’ll see you later.” 

“Yes you will,” Daphne agreed with another wicked little smile. 

Turning before Daphne could say something even more ridiculous, or kiss her again, Hermione hurried from the garden. Making her way through the halls, she headed toward the Tower kitchens. There might be leftovers there, and Hermione would be able to grab something to eat. As she turned another corner, she collided with a solid body. 

Automatically, she put out a hand to steady herself. The man she collided with had put a hand on her shoulder to steady her. Then he’d very carefully pulled away. She turned toward him, embarrassed to have almost run someone down in the hallway. 

“I’m so sorry,” she blurted out. She froze and pulled back when she realized that the person she’d slammed into was Harry. “Your Highness.” 

Discomfort flickered across Harry’s face. Hermione took a moment to really look at him. Harry had finally grown into  himself. The war had changed him just as it had changed all of them. Harry had a quiet air of confidence that had been missing from the boy she’d known. 

“Hermione .” No one ever said her name the way that Harry did. It never failed to make something low in her belly ignite. He looked her over quickly and when he reached her face his brows drew together, and something dark flashed in his eyes. “Are you okay?” 

“What?” Hermione blinked up at him. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?” 

“You were hurrying from somewhere—practically running—and it’s obvious that you…,” he huffed and frowned at her with a pained expression. “Someone was kissing you Hermione. Was it welcome, or not?” 

“Oh.” Hermione could feel her entire face heat up and she knew that she was probably blushing down to her toes. “It was welcome.” 

“Oh.”  Harry’s jaw tightened and he nodded . “I need to speak to you.” 

“Yes ,” Hermione agreed. “We do need to talk. Maybe we could use one of the small meditation rooms?” 

“That’s a good idea,” Harry said with a slight smile. “Let’s see if there’s one free.” 

Once they found a free room, Hermione sat down on the mat and stared at Harry. He’d run his hands through his hair so many times that it was sticking up everywhere. Hermione sat on her hands so that she couldn’t fix it. He was pacing in the tiny room, and it was distracting. 

“Your  Highness ,” Hermione sighed. Harry stopped pacing and turned to frown at her. 

“Why do you keep doing that?” He demanded. He waved his hand between them. “Why are you trying to pretend that we’re nothing to each other?” 

“What are we,  Your  Highness ? ”  Hermione demanded with a stubborn expression. “I’m  not your betrothed. I’m not your lover. I’m not your girlfriend. I am nothing to you,  Your  Highness . Not anymore.” 

Harry’s hand clenched into a fist and he struck his thigh in frustration. 

“You are everything to me ,” he  snarled . 

“I can’t be,  Your  Highness ,” she protested. “The law is clear, and even if it weren’t , I  can’t interact with the palace the way your consort will need to do.” 

The air pressure in the room increased. Even Ungifted, Hermione could feel the change. Air swirled around Harry until there were tiny, miniature tornadoes spinning around him. 

“FUCK!” Harry yelled at the ceiling. He ran his hand through his hair again and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. The tornadoes disappeared. He glared at Hermione. “Why is it always this way with you? I had a plan. I even wrote a bloody speech so that I wouldn’t do or say the wrong thing.  Then I run into you and it has all gone  tits up .” 

“How is that  my  fault?” Hermione asked incredulously. Harry chuckled bitterly. 

“Because you’re you?” Harry countered with a raised eyebrow. A nostalgic smile graced his lips. “Because when I was 10 years old, I met the person I was going to love for the rest of my life. Because when I was 15 years old, I realized that I was the luckiest bastard in Albion. Because when I was 18, I lost everything, and I knew that nothing would ever be right again.”

“What did you want to talk to me about?” Hermione sighed. 

“I… Neville said that you’ve heard the rumours,” Harry said in a stiff voice. 

“The Crown council is pushing for a new betrothal.” Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. 

“I don’t want to,” Harry muttered. He clenched his jaw and looked away. “But I don’t have a choice.” 

“Your  Highness ,” Hermione began. She paused and sighed. In the privacy of the meditation room, she could give him this much. “ Harry . I knew this would happen 10 years ago. Why have you been so insistent about speaking to me?” 

“They never even let us say goodbye,” Harry reminded her. “They packed you off while I was training, and when I came back for the Solsticetide you were just… gone.” 

“I remember,” Hermione whispered. “At the time I thought it was probably for the best. If you had been there… I would have clung to you and never let go. It would have caused some kind of regnal crisis.” 

“I need that… to say goodbye to… to what we were supposed to be—what I thought we were going to be since I was 10 years old,” Harry said gently. He moved to sit in front of her on the mat. 

“How do we do that?” Hermione asked with a frown.  Harry swallowed and a flush spread over his cheeks. 

“I know this will sound… you obviously have someone that you…,” Harry groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. “This was such a stupid idea. I’m sorry to have bothered you.” 

Understanding struck  Hermione in one brilliant flash . 

“You want to kiss me?” Hermione squeaked. Harry just stared at her. 

“I always want to kiss you, Hermione,” He said gently. “I just thought that… if I knew it was the last one… that somehow I could figure out how to stop wanting what I can’t have.” 

A dark laugh rippled up through her chest and out her throat. 

“I don’t know about that, but I’m willing to let you try,” Hermione said. 

“What about the — ,” Harry waved at her face. “Your welcome kisser?” 

“That was… it isn’t a problem,” Hermione reassured him. 

Kissing Harry was nothing like kissing Daphne. Harry was a whirlwind.  He seemed to surround her in an instant. One hand slid up her neck, his thumb dragging along her jaw.  Feather light kisses were dusted over her temple, her cheek, and the tip of her nose before he finally reached her mouth. A tear slipped down her cheek,  and he brushed it away with his thumb.

At the touch of Harry’s mouth to hers, all control vanished. This was exactly what Hermione had always thought a last kiss would be like with Harry. There was a fierce desperation in his movements. His teeth weren’t as careful or gentle as Daphne’s had been. His  tongue swept into her mouth, searching out hers. When Hermione sank her teeth into his lower lip and tugged, Harry groaned. 

“Harry,” Hermione sighed. He pressed his forehead to hers. 

“I won’t lie to you,” Harry whispered. “I’m not the kind of man that turns away from his duty. I know what I owe Albion. I just wish…”

“I pray ed for Manifestation sickness,” Hermione confessed in a small voice. “I missed you so much when you went to the Towers for training. I kept hoping that something would change,  and  that I… I  could be with you.” 

“Yes,” Harry agreed.

“When you… when it happens…,” Hermione struggled to get the words out without breaking down in tears. “Please don’t make me come to court. I… let me stay in the Spine.” 

“ Hermione ,” Harry whispered in a suspiciously thick voice. 

“I  can’t ,” Hermione protested. “Please don’t make me beg, Harry.” She pulled away from him so that she could look him in the eyes. The familiar brilliant green of Harry’s eyes was bloodshot and red-rimmed. “Could you do it? Could you come to the Spine and congratulate my spouse? Watch us with our children?” 

Harry’s jaw clenched so tightly that she could hear his teeth grind and she winced in sympathy. 

“Fine,” he agreed. “I’ll make sure the council knows. I’ll speak to the McGonagall Herself, if you want me to do so.” 

“I’ll talk to Mum,” Hermione muttered. She took a deep breath and swallowed. “ I should probably go.” 

“Probably,” Harry agreed. He took one of her hands and threaded their fingers together. Naked emotion washed over his face and he raised their joined hands to his lips. “Your vassals are no doubt tearing this place apart looking for you.” 

“ Cac ,” Hermione swore under her breath. Reluctantly, she tugged at her hand. “You’re right, of course. Fay’s probably panicking, and Oliver’s probably threatening someone.” 

“Oliver?” Harry frowned at the unfamiliar name.

“Oliver Wood,” Hermione reminded him. She sighed and tugged at her hand again. “He’s my cousin, Harry. His mother was a McGonagall.” 

“Ah.” Harry finally released her hand. “I think I remember him. He came to the palace for your fourteenth birthday.” 

“Yes,” Hermione agreed. 

Just before Hermione’s birthday, Oliver had turned  seventeen years old, and he had come to swear his vassalage to the Young McGonagall. It was something that Herself had decided on when Hermione had been betrothed to the Heir of Gryffindor. She had wanted people whose primary oaths bound them to protect  her  daughter. 

“How am I going to do this without you?” Harry asked her plaintively. 

“You will do it because you must,” Hermione replied. She reached up and cupped his cheek. “You will bear the weight for Albion and you will endure. I believe in you, Harry Potter.” 

For the briefest moment, Harry let his cheek rest against her hand. Then he released her and took a step back. A sad smile flitted over his lips. 

“Thank you, Hermione.” He leaned forward and his lips brushed over her forehead. 

The door closed behind him and Hermione was left alone in the meditation room. She pressed the heels of her hands to her closed eyes and took a shuddering breath. She had gotten her wish—a final goodbye from Harry, and closure on the last twenty years of her life. Maybe now she could finally move on. 

 

 


	4. The Rededication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No matter how much Hermione tries--she can't seem to escape her past. At the rededication of Slytherin Tower, Hermione is startled and hurt by the apparent closeness between Draco Malfoy and the Prince of Albion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back from my weekend getaway with my sister. Cheese, wine, and mini-putt golf are where it's at people.
> 
> As always, all honour and respect to Auntie_L who is the best!

**Chapter Four: The Rededication**

 

Silence had reined in Hermione’s temporary rooms broken only by the sound of her sobbing as she let go of ten years’ worth of bottled-up emotions. Fay had taken one look at Hermione’s face when they’d found her in the halls outside the meditation rooms, and had begun ranting in Gaelic so strong that it should have stripped the paint from the walls. Oliver had winced, but he hadn’t stopped Fay, which said a lot about his own feelings on the matter. They had hustled her back to her room, and Oliver had kept guard outside the door for the rest of the day.

“What happened?” Daphne had dared to ask, her voice hesitant and unsure for the first time since Hermione had met her. “It isn’t because I…”

“No,” Hermione had croaked out, shaking her head.

“Then budge over,” Daphne told Fay. She climbed into Hermione’s bed and sat next to Hermione. “I’m not going to ask, and you don’t need to explain anything, but I’m here for you.”

“You just want in my lady’s pants,” Fay scoffed.

“Who wouldn’t want in your lady’s pants?” Daphne countered with a wink. Then her expression sobered. “That’s not why I’m crawling into bed with you both… although it might feature strongly in some of my future fantasies.”

“Why are you doing this?” Hermione rasped. Fay and Daphne both cringed at the sound of her voice.

“Don’t talk,” Fay begged. “Here, drink your tea.”

“It tastes like shite,” Hermione retorted. Fay rolled her eyes at Hermione.

“That’s how you know it works,” Fay countered.

“It really does work,” Daphne added and shrugged when Hermione glared at her over her teacup. “It does.”

“Answer my lady,” Fay ordered. She frowned at Daphne. “I find that I’m curious as to your motivations as well.”

“It’s… it’s complicated,” Daphne said. At Fay’s and Hermione’s unimpressed faces, Daphne held up her hands. “Right. So… I’ve worked with both Neville and Harry for almost… 8 years? I think? It doesn’t matter. What matters is that the war… it made all of us a little harder, a little more cynical.”

“That’s true enough,” Fay muttered and Hermione nodded.

“We all… it was difficult to trust, but Harry seemed to struggle more than anyone else. He didn’t let anyone in, except Neville,” Daphne explained slowly. She bit her lip and looked at Hermione. “He finally got to a point where he could let us in, where he trusted us, but I’ve _never_ heard your name. They never even mentioned you, and I’ve _been inside_ their heads.”

“Not helping, Lady Daphne,” Fay growled.

“Except that they _trust_ you,” Daphne continued on. “It was easy to see—maybe because we all had to fight so hard for it? Harry is also absurdly protective of you. He threatened to throw me in an oubliette if I ever talked to anyone about you. Does the palace even have an oubliette?”

A pained snort escaped Hermione. She winced at how much that actually hurt, and took another sip of her tea. Harry had always been overprotective, ever since the first assassination attempt when Hermione had only been betrothed to him for a span of weeks.

“His highness has always been fatuous prat when it comes to my lady,” Fay muttered. Daphne blinked at that and then turned to look at Hermione.

“I’ve come to consider Harry a friend. The fact that he trusts you… that says a lot.” Daphne gently touched Hermione’s knee. “That’s the kind of person I’d like to count as a friend as well.”

“The shagging is just a bonus?” Fay asked drily.

“Shagging is always a bonus,” Daphne replied with an exaggerated wriggle of her eyebrows. “I won’t be in the Towers for the rest of my life. It wouldn’t hurt me to have a friend in the Spine.”

Since Hermione was supposed to be resting her throat, she did the only thing she could do. She leaned forward and kissed Daphne on the corner of her mouth.

“My lady,” Fay huffed indignantly.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Looking out at all of you today, I feel an immense sense of pride in the people of Albion,” Harry spoke clearly and distinctly into the Tower’s voice amplifier. “From all the far-flung reaches, you have travelled here, to join with me to rededicate Slytherin Tower.”

Around Hermione, the crowd shifted. Their excitement was almost palpable. It didn’t take an empath to determine that they were hanging onto Harry’s every word. She tried to pay attention as his speech continued, but a tendril of unease slid through her. Hermione’s spine straightened and her head snapped up, slowly scanning the crowd. Oliver went stiff next to her, and Daphne looked over at her in confusion.

“What is it?” Daphne whispered. Hermione just shook her head.

“It’s nothing,” she said for Daphne’s benefit. “Just my gut.” That was for Oliver’s benefit.

A faintly whispered, ‘ _cac’_ drifted toward her as he turned and tried to make eye contact with Fay.

“I swear that the tea really does help,” Daphne sighed.

“It helped,” Hermione agreed in a soft murmur.

It was at that moment that Draco Malfoy stepped up, and stood shoulder-to-shoulder next to Harry. In the Spine, they didn’t have the access to information that anyone else might have had, but even Hermione had heard of the Malfoys. They had been one of the major factions that led the Slytherin renegades. One of the Royal Guard who had remembered Fay had admitted that Narcissa Malfoy was a cousin of the Prince-Consort, and Prince Sirius had destroyed a room when he’d heard of his cousin’s betrayal of the Crown.

Next to her, Oliver was projecting menace so strongly that she looked up at him and quirked an eyebrow. He scowled at her and then turned his focus back to the crowd. It wasn’t worth trying to ask him to stop. Oliver would just scoff at her and go to the McGonagall. It was a sad day when one’s vassals used one’s mother against one.

“As his highness has already said, the rededication of Slytherin Tower gives us, gives Albion, the chance to heal,” Draco Malfoy spoke into the voice amplifier. He had the accent of the lowlands, the plains-dwellers, but Hermione was able to follow along well enough. “Those of us who follow Salazar must remember that Salazar’s pride was tempered before one man in Albion. In honour of Salazar, and in the hope that Albion will begin to heal, I bend my knee to Albion, to the Heirs of Gryffindor of the line of Godric, Lord of Light.”

A soft gasp swept through the room as Draco Malfoy got down on one knee in front of Harry. Next to her she could hear Daphne’s soft, shocked gasp. Hermione narrowed her eyes on the raised stage. Harry didn’t look surprised at all, and neither did Neville. Her gaze shifted to the blond man kneeling in front of the Crown Prince of Albion. He was completely calm and relaxed.

“We are honoured by the trust and faith of this son of Salazar,” Harry called out clearly as he laid his hand on Malfoy’s head.

Perhaps it was the positioning, or perhaps it was Harry’s casual air, but their body language spoke to a closeness that made Hermione’s chest tighten. Harry and Malfoy were even closer than Harry’s interactions had been with Daphne. She didn’t doubt that Harry had slept with Daphne at least once, and Hermione didn’t care about that. The gods knew that she’d found comfort with other people over the last ten years. What Hermione cared about was the easy affection, the _warmth_ , in every move Harry made.

Then Neville stepped forward and placed his hand on Malfoy’s shoulder. A soft glow surrounded Malfoy, making another soft ripple of gasps and whispers move through the crowd. A physical manifestation of the oath binding had been stumbled upon by Salazar himself during an experiment, and he had named it the Cowl of Truth. If Malfoy lied, the glowing cowl around his head would vanish. Such a display was normally considered an insult to the oath taker, but Hermione supposed that these were special circumstances.

“Are you ready to make your oath?” Neville asked gravely.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Malfoy said.

The Cowl remained, glowing brightly.

“Make your oath of allegiance, Draco Malfoy of the House of Malfoy,” Neville stated.

“I swear by Salazar, the Lord of the Fens and the Plains, that I, Draco Malfoy of the House of Malfoy, will be faithful and bear true allegiance to His Majesty, King James of Albion, to his heirs and successors, and to the House of Gryffindor.”

“On behalf of His Majesty, King James of Albion, Son of Godric, Lord of Light, I accept your oath.” Harry’s voice rang out over the room.

Something shifted in Hermione’s gut. The sense of unease remained, but Draco’s oath had struck a chord within her, and a sense of rightness… of peace… spread through her at his words. The glow of the Cowl seemed to reinforce Hermione’s senses. She moved her weight, uncomfortable with what her gut was trying to tell her. Oliver brushed his shoulder against hers, and she looked up at him and shook her head. 

“Now will you make your oath of vassalage to Harry, the Crown Prince of Albion, Heir to Gryffindor, son of Godric, Lord of Light?” Neville asked.

“I will, Your Grace,” Malfoy said calmly.

The crowd shifted at that. Draco Malfoy was attempting to tie himself to Albion and to Gryffindor with every oath it was possible to take. He might as well have stood up in front of everyone and sworn an oath of repudiation to his House, his former Tower and Salazar himself. It was a bold statement, and Hermione wondered what Harry was planning to do.

“I pledge my sword, my Gifts, and my life to His Highness, the Crown Prince Harry,” Malfoy swore. The Cowl seemed to glow even brighter, if such a thing were possible. “May he use them as he will, up to and including the defence of his life with mine. I so swear by Salazar, Lord of the Fens and the Plains.”

“I accept the pledge of Draco Malfoy of the House of Malfoy,” Harry stated firmly. “May his arm never falter, may his Gift never weaken, and may his life be long.”

“We hear and affirm these oaths,” Neville said with a glance at that room in front of him.

“We hear and affirm,” the crowd murmured with a subdued air.

“Well that was interesting,” Oliver murmured in her ear. Hermione nodded.

“Unexpected,” she murmured back.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The reception for the rededication had dragged on for hours. Harry had seemed determined to drag Malfoy around the entire Tower, keeping the other man in his company constantly. Hermione had been equally determined to avoid the both of them at all costs. The itch in her gut hadn’t gone away—it had only gotten worse as the day went on.  

It wasn’t as though a triad marriage was unknown. Harry himself was the product of a marriage between Lily Evans, a Prime of almost unbelievable strength and power, Sirius Black, the Heir to one of the most ancient families of Albion, and James Potter, the Heir of Gryffindor, when the three of them had met at the Towers. The court had been perfectly scandalized, but no one could argue with the results.

As one of the most powerful Primes that anyone had ever heard of, the Queen-Consort Lily was able to interact with the Palace unlike anyone before her. She could enter the matrices that powered the Palace with an ease and skill that many envied. During the war, she had turned the Palace into an impenetrable fortress, and she had operated the shield that had protected Godric’s Hollow, the city that surrounded the Palace.

“Hermione,” a cruelly vicious voice called out. Hermione glared at Fay, who rolled her eyes.

“That is Lady Hermione, Lady Ginevra,” Hermione replied as she turned around. A cold smile spread over her face. “That is my title by birth. I’m sure it’s difficult for you to remember all of the intricacies of court etiquette, as yours is a courtesy title that the House of Ross had to request on your behalf, but do try not to embarrass them.”

“You would know all about embarrassing the House of Ross, wouldn’t you, Hermione,” Ginevra spat out furiously, her cheeks flushed with rage. “My brothers have told me that no one ever mentions you. No one ever talks about you. Everyone is too ashamed of you to even say your name.”

All of the blood drained from Hermione’s face, and then a dull flush crept into her cheeks. Herself had insisted that Hermione needed to wear a gown suitable for court, which meant that her dirk wasn’t even to hand. It was back in her rooms, lying on her bed. She struggled with her glove. If she could pull it off, she was going to strike Ginevra Weasley of the House of Ross with it, and call her out for a duel.

“What are you talking about?” Daphne scoffed. “No one is ashamed of Lady Hermione.”

Ginevra turned to glare at Daphne. “Stay out of it, Slytherin.” Then she turned back to scowl at Hermione. “They disinherited you! I’m the Heiress of Ross. I am! I should have gotten everything that went with the title.”

Everything clicked into place and Hermione couldn’t help herself. A startled laugh escaped her.

“And you assumed that included the future Prince of Albion?” Hermione demanded incredulously. “By that logic, he should also marry Lavender Brown who is the current Heiress of Urquart.”

“I’m the Heiress of Ross,” Ginevra repeated and stomped her foot. “You were disgraced and sent away in shame!”

“Being Ungifted is not a shame, nor is it an embarrassment,” Harry’s furious voice rang out. The crowd parted so that he could stalk over to stand at Hermione’s side. “Some of the finest people I have ever known were Ungifted, men and women who sacrificed their life’s blood in service to Albion. I would feel blessed by all the Gods if I am half the man that any of them were. How dare you disrespect any of them?”

“Your Highness,” Ginevra whispered, finally realizing how badly she had erred.

“You will return home, _now_ ,” Harry growled. “You will write to Elinor Ross immediately and inform her of _your_ shame and disgrace.”

“Your Highness, please,” Ginevra protested weakly.

“You want my _mercy_ after you have humiliated and embarrassed my…,” here Harry faltered and he turned to stare at Hermione with wide eyes. “Th-the Lady Hermione,” he corrected himself.

“Lord Salazar of the Fens,” Daphne whispered in horror. Hermione lifted her chin and turned to face Daphne who was still standing next to her.

“I won’t apologize for not telling you,” Hermione said quietly after she glanced around the room. Everyone was staring at them, and Hermione wished for the Gift of teleportation with all her heart. “It’s considered a safety risk for people to know.”

“Of course,” Daphne agreed. She blinked slowly and turned to stare at Harry. “I just… I had no idea.”

“Your Highness,” Malfoy’s soft, plains accent spoke up from behind them and Hermione flinched.

“Please excuse me, Your Highness,” she whispered brokenly before she turned and fled.

“Hermione!” Harry’s voice echoed in her ears as she ran from him.

Every hallway was full of slightly inebriated people, but Hermione was so upset that she pushed through them, trying to find her way. Somehow she’d managed to shake Harry, Oliver, and Fay. Her heart ached and her gut clenched fiercely, and Hermione headed to the one place in the Tower that gave her any peace at all.

Luckily enough for Hermione, the courtyard gardens appeared to be empty. The rededication ceremony had taken place outside, and the Tower workers had set up huge tents outside to host the official reception. Hopefully, her luck would hold, and Hermione would be granted respite in the gardens.

The garden enveloped her, surrounding her with its smells and sounds, but her gut tightened even more than she’d thought possible. Hermione frowned and rubbed her stomach through her robes. Just before they struck, Hermione sensed movement behind her. She turned sharply, and raised her arm in a defensive manoeuvre, blocking an attack.

“Who are you?” Hermione demanded as she danced out of the range of their reach.

“I am a loyal servant of Salazar,” hissed the black-clad Death Eater. The signature silver mask of the Death Eaters gleamed in the moonlight.

“As the rededication reminded everyone, Salazar was loyal to Gryffindor,” Hermione wheezed as she tried to keep away from the Death Eater. Oliver was going to kick her arse for this, if she managed to live.

“Do not dare to speak his name,” the Death Eater snarled.

“Whose name?” Hermione asked. She moved closer in an attempt to sweep the Death Eater’s leg. “Salazar’s?”

When Hermione attempted to attack the Death Eater, they chose to leap at her. Hermione tried to correct her movements, but the Death Eater managed to grab her. She struggled against them, but whoever they were, they were stronger than she was.

“I swear to you, Harry,” Daphne’s voice drifted in to the garden. “Hermione likes the gardens here. She spends a lot of time in them.”

“Lady Daphne is correct,” Oliver’s voice followed.

“Perfect,” the Death Eater hissed against Hermione’s cheek. She shrieked and tried to push the Death Eater away from her.

“Hermione!” Harry called her name frantically.

As soon as he saw Hermione, struggling within the grasp of a Death Eater, he froze.

“So pleased that you could join us, Your Highness,” The Death Eater chortled.

“Why is that?” Harry asked cautiously. It was an obvious attempt to buy more time, and Hermione wanted to roll her eyes at him.

“So that you can witness the death of Her Ladyship,” the Death Eater said with an air of finality that only increased Hermione’s struggle to free herself.

With a sudden wrench, her head was held completely still. She whimpered, truly frightened for the first time that night. She could feel the sharp pinch of a needle piercing her skin, and then the cool slide as it entered her jugular vein. Tears slipped down her cheeks when the Death Eater released her, letting her fall to the ground.

“What did you do?” Harry growled in a dark, menacing voice that she had never heard from him before.

Wild, maniacal laughter rang out and then Hermione heard the dull thud of flesh hitting flesh.

“WHAT DID YOU DO?” Harry bellowed.

“A rare poison,” the Death Eater crowed smugly. “It was obtained from across the seas, and there is no antidote or cure for it within Albion. Enjoy your last few minutes with her; she should be dead within minutes.”

Everything tilted, and suddenly Hermione was staring up at the night sky. Harry hauled her up into his arms, pulling her into his lap. Lethargy had already spread throughout her limbs, and she was finding it hard to move. When Harry tilted her head so that she could see his face she smiled.

“Harry,” she sighed softly. It was too late now to worry about titles and propriety. Mum always said that the dead didn’t give a toss for propriety.

“Hermione,” Harry whispered. He clutched her to him, and Hermione tried to ignore the way his shoulders shook.

As it had all night, Hermione’s gut clenched, but this was unlike anything she’d ever felt before. It was a twisting, stabbing pain that made her gasp for air. Her stomach clenched again and again, and she struggled weakly in Harry’s arms.

“Hermione?” Harry’s voice turned frantic. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

“Help her,” Fay ordered. She reached over and swatted at Harry’s hands. “Let her go, your highness.”

“Fuck you, Dunbar,” Harry growled.

“She’s trying to move, your highness,” Fay pointed out. “There has to be a reason.”

Carefully, they helped Hermione to sit up. Harry was supporting her and Fay helped to move her so that she was leaning to the side. She let her fingers tighten on Harry’s as much as she could, but she knew it was only the barest pressure.

“I’m here, Hermione,” he promised.

Then Hermione leaned forward and vomited in the grass.

“What _is_ that,” Daphne asked. Oliver struck a match and peered at the mess next to Hermione.

“It’s… it’s black,” he muttered. He glanced at his liege lady. “That can’t be good.”

“No, it isn’t,” Harry agreed. “I’ve heard of a few foreign poisons, but none of them cause a reaction like that.”

“We need a healer,” Fay said flatly.

“I’ll get one,” Daphne offered.

“Go,” Harry commanded her. “Tell them to hurry.”

Fire raced through Hermione’s veins, spreading throughout her body. She could feel sweat break out on her brow. Heat suffused her, and Hermione could feel it building within her. She arched her back and an unearthly scream was ripped from her throat. The fire filled her and she knew nothing but the burning flames that were consuming her inch by inch.

“Mercy of Rowena,” Oliver swore. “Is that the poison?”

“It… it looks like…,” Fay fell silent.

“What?” Harry demanded.

“What’s happened?” Draco Malfoy demanded as he hurried into the gardens. He frowned at all of them. “Well?”

“A Death Eater poisoned her,” Harry bit out between clenched teeth. In his arms, Hermione began to seize.

“Shit,” Draco muttered. He pulled Hermione out of Harry’s arms and laid her down in the grass. He glared at Harry. “Light, please.”

Without a word, Oliver lit every lantern in the garden. When everyone turned to stare at him, he shrugged.

“Pyrokinesis runs in the McGonagall line,” Oliver explained. “My Gift for pyrokinesis isn’t strong, but it works well enough.”

Deftly, Draco performed a cursory evaluation. After a glance at Fay and Oliver, who both nodded, he began to scan her using his Gift. What he saw startled him so badly that he fell back.

“What is it?” Harry asked sharply.

“If I believed in fate,” Draco muttered.

“Draco!” Harry glared at him.

“I can’t be certain, but it looks as though she had an allergic reaction to the poison,” Draco said slowly. He shook his head. “I don’t know how… but it triggered her Manifestation.”

“ _What_?” Harry shook his head. “What did you say?”

“This?” Draco waved a hand at an unconscious Hermione, who was twitching restlessly, her gown already soaked with her sweat. “This is Manifestation sickness.”

“By Godric,” Harry whispered, staring at Hermione with the first stirrings of hope he’d felt in ten years.

“Harry, no,” Draco said and put a hand on his liege’s arm. “This is… incredibly dangerous. I’ve never seen anyone her age go through Manifestation sickness. I’m not sure what it will do to her.” He paused and swallowed. “It could kill her. You need to prepare for that.”

“I have to inform Herself,” Fay whispered. She turned on her heel and fled the gardens.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. The Last Bastion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fear grips the McGonagalls and the Dunbars as Hermione is ravaged by Manifestation sickness. Harry refuses to let fear take hold. He's not about to lose Hermione now that she's in his life again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Auntie_L is perfection.

**Chapter Five: The Last Bastion**

 

Hope and fear warred for an equal place in Harry’s heart. The fantasy of having Hermione as his princess, and one day as his Queen, that had taunted him for years. That he might come so close to that fantasy—to touch it—and have her taken from him by Manifestation sickness was infuriating. Almost as infuriating as his former betrothed’s mother.

“Draco’s already looked her over,” Harry explained to Lady Minerva as patiently as he could.

“Let me be verra clear, so that ye’ll understand every word, Yer Highness,” Lady Minerva snapped, her accent thickening with her fury. “I dinna care. I want her looked over by _Donata_ Sinistra’s healing team. After a _full_ evaluation has been done, I will decide what will be done about _my_ daughter. Do ye understand me, Yer Highness?”

“Yes, Lady Minerva,” he growled back. “I do.”

The Healers had swept in and removed Hermione from the gardens, moving silently and swiftly. Lady Minerva followed behind them, and Fay and Oliver moved to flank her, leaving Harry alone in the garden with Daphne, Draco, and an unconscious Death Eater. Daphne toed the Death Eater experimentally and then turned to look at Harry.

“Do you want Neville to take care of this?” She asked.

Harry sighed and nodded. “Yes, please. Tell him about Hermione, but make sure there isn’t anyone around to overhear when you do.”

Daphne stiffened and shot him a fulminating glare.

“Of course, Your Highness,” she replied stiffly. Harry scowled at her.

“Brilliant,” he huffed in irritation. “Now she’s got you doing it, too.”

“What can I say?” Daphne shrugged at him. “Hermione is a memorable woman.” When Harry’s eyes turned flinty, Daphne edged toward the garden entrance. “I’ll just go find Neville, shall I?”

“You do that,” Harry growled.

Daphne’s hasty retreat left Draco and Harry alone in the garden. Harry moved to the Death Eater, to make sure that they were secured. He took his time, making sure all the ropes were knotted.

“Are we going to talk about this at all?” Draco asked drily.

“Talk about what?” Harry asked as he cautiously searched the Death Eater’s body for weapons.

“I knew that you had been betrothed to the Heiress of Ross and Urquart. Everyone knew that,” Draco pointed out. “I knew that the betrothal had fallen through, but the why of it was a little fuzzy. No one in the palace would ever talk about it.”

“By then, they’d already learned their lesson,” Harry muttered. He pulled a knife out of the Death Eater’s boot and tossed it onto the pile of weapons he’d already extracted.

“What does _that_ mean?” Draco asked. Harry moved away from the Death Eater and sat cross-legged on the grass.

“It means that my parents adored Hermione. They were devastated when the Houses of Urquart and Ross made the decision to withdraw from the betrothal,” Harry explained in a quiet voice. “My mum cried anytime anyone mentioned her. My dads… Sirius would fly into rages, and James got quiet and bled guilt all over all of us until Dad told him to knock it off, and that it wasn’t his fault.”

“And you?” Draco asked quietly.

“Oh, he was a fucking mess for almost a year,” Neville said as he entered the gardens. “He threatened to challenge the Houses of Ross and Urquart to a duel, which might have been more impressive if Elinor Ross wasn’t pushing 100 years old.”

“I was 19 years old, and they had taken the love of my life away,” Harry grumbled. “I think I was entitled to be upset.”

“You tried to punch Teasag Urquart when she suggested that you would accept the new Urquart Heiress,” Neville reminded him.

“She flat out said she didn’t see the problem because Lavender Brown’s hair was as curly as Hermione’s!” Harry growled. “As if the reason I loved her was because of her bloody hair!”

“But why don’t you ever talk about it… about her?” Draco asked with a frown.

“My betrothal ended 10 years ago,” Harry sighed. He rubbed a hand over his face. “I’ve _never_ sought a new one, even though I’m the line of succession and it is paramount that I marry, and produce children. I thought that would be pretty self-explanatory.”

“You still love her, that’s obvious. I knew your heart wasn’t available the first time I met you,” Draco pointed out. “That doesn’t explain why you refused to mention her at all.”

“The first assassination attempt on Hermione McGonagall happened about five weeks after the betrothal was officially declared,” Neville offered. “The entire time that Hermione was the betrothed of the Heir of Gryffindor she had her own detachment of the Royal Guard that followed her every step.”

“When the betrothal ended, and the war started, we could no longer offer her that level of protection,” Harry added. He grimaced. “The McGonagall chose to take her entire clan into the Spine to wait out the war in their stronghold, Catspaw.”

“You were trying to protect her,” Draco murmured softly.

“The only way he had available to him,” Neville said. He pushed at the Death Eater with the toe of his boot. “You want to know who, how, and why?”

“Yes,” Harry agreed. He stood up slowly. “I want to check on Hermione.”

“Of course,” Neville murmured. “I’ll have some of the Guard help me.”

Harry turned to Draco. “Will you come with me?”

“Her case is unique. It would be fascinating to study,” Draco mused thoughtfully.

Neville snorted. “Good luck with that.”

“I am the foremost expert in Healing when it comes to Manifestation sickness or difficulties in Manifesting properly,” Draco reminded Neville stiffly.

“I’m not questioning that,” Neville countered with a slight smile.

“Let’s go,” Harry commanded. He turned and strode from the gardens.

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Absolutely not,” The McGonagall snapped.

“Lady Minerva,” Harry growled, completely frustrated.

“No!” Lady Minerva glared at him. She waved in Draco’s direction. “ _My_ daughter— _my heir_ —has been poisoned. I don’t trust anyone right now, Yer Highness.”

One of the Tower’s Healers stepped into the hall. Lady Minerva turned to face the Healer, giving her back to Harry. Fay and Oliver moved to flank her again, and Harry’s hands fisted at his sides.

“Lady Minerva.” The Healer nodded politely to her.

“Healer Fawley,” Lady Minerva nodded back. She twisted her hands together in a physical display of her nervousness. “What can you tell me?”

“We’re struggling to stabilize her,” Healer Fawley admitted. She shook her head. “What can you tell me about her status previously?”

“Hermione was latent,” Lady Minerva said quietly. “We had her tested before the Houses of Ross and Urquart named her their joint Heir, and the technicians said that her Gift was very close to the surface. There was every indication that she would Manifest, but she… she never did. Afterward, Hermione agreed to be tested again, and she still showed latent.”

“The poison that was used… it mimics _kythyr_ , which you listed as an allergy,” Healer Fawley said carefully. Lady Minerva nodded cautiously, and the Healer shifted anxiously. “Her reaction seemed to… well… for the lack of better phrasing… it seemed to flip a switch inside her, triggering her Manifestation.”

“You said that you’re struggling to stabilize her?” Draco looked at the Healer who nodded.

“Yes. As you know, Healer Malfoy, when children and teenagers Manifest, their bodies are better able to handle the fevers that are caused by Manifestation,” the Healer explained. Here Healer Fawley grimaced and shook her head. She turned to look at Lady Minerva, a resigned look in her eyes. “I can’t help but wonder if her latency was a way to protect her.”

“What does that mean?” Harry asked with a growing sense of dread.

“The Lady Hermione will be extremely powerful, if she survives,” Healer Fawley admitted cautiously. She bit her lip and wrung her hands worriedly. “But I fear that it appears more and more likely that she won’t survive.”

“ _Tòiseachaidh teine_ ,” Oliver whispered.

Lady Minerva flinched and turned to stare at Healer Fawley.

“She’s pyrokinetic?” Lady Minerva asked hoarsely.

“And a Prime,” Healer Fawley added.

“ _Cac_ ,” Fay swore.

“Bloody hell,” Draco muttered in agreement.

“I don’t understand,” Harry admitted. He turned to Draco. “Why are they so worried?”

“Of all the elements that Gifted can manipulate, fire can be the most dangerous to the wielder,” Draco reminded him. “The children most often lost to Manifestation sickness are pyrokinetic. They… they burn from the inside out, essentially cooking their internal organs. If they can’t control her fevers, she’ll either burn up, or she’ll go into convulsions.”

As the Crown Prince of Albion, Harry could do anything. He could send out his spymasters to root out any information. He could command the armies of Albion to follow up on that information. He could fly his Glider anywhere in Albion. He could use his Gifts in defence of his people and his country. He could do all of that, but there was _nothing_ he could do to save Hermione.

“Can we,” Lady Minerva paused and swallowed. “Can we do anything to help her?”

“We need to bring her temperature down and keep it down,” Healer Fawley said firmly. “If we can do that… she might just have a chance.”

“Can I see her?” Harry asked.

Healer Fawley turned to him and blinked in surprise, but before she could say a word, Lady Minerva moved so that she stood in front of Harry.

“You will stay the hell away from my daughter, and the let the Healers work,” Lady Minerva snarled at him. “She’s barely clinging to life. She does not need the fucking House of bloody Gryffindor prancing into her sickroom and upsetting her.”

“My lady,” Oliver protested.

“What?” Lady Minerva whirled on her kinsmen, her jaw set. “Because he’s the bloody Crown Prince, I’m supposed to pretend that it’s okay? I’m supposed to let him upset her and shift her concentration? I swore to her 10 years ago that no other House would ever dictate her life, and that includes the bloody, fucking House of Gryffindor!” 

The fact that he _knew_ that Minerva McGonagall was half-mad with grief and fear helped Harry keep control of his own prodigious temper. It helped that if he lost his temper—if he dared to yell at the McGonagall Herself while her daughter fought for her life—Hermione would kick his arse all by herself… if she survived. So Harry bit his tongue and swallowed his fury at his inability to do anything to help.

“I can help,” Draco offered immediately. He took a hesitant step forward. “My specialty is Manifestation sickness, and it would be my honour to help, Lady Minerva.”

“Healer Malfoy is well-known for his skill in assisting with Manifestation sickness,” Healer Fawley said. She glanced at Lady Minerva. “His help might make the difference.”

“My lady,” Fay whispered. She put her hand on Lady Minerva’s shoulder and squeezed.

“Fine,” Lady Minerva muttered. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “If it will… fine. Let him help.”

“Thank you,” Harry said gratefully.

The McGonagall turned to glare at him.

“I love my daughter, Your Highness. I would do _anything_ to save her,” Lady Minerva said with stiff civility. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I just hope your new liege man is able to do so.”

“If Healers had Primes… then Draco would be one,” Harry said carefully. “I trust him to do everything in his power to save Hermione.”

“Will he?” Lady Minerva asked. She tilted her head and gave him a pointed look. “Even when healing her means that you’ll force the Crown to sue to reinstate the betrothal?”

“Draco would never let a patient die,” Harry countered with a shake of his head. “And he certainly doesn’t want to be my Consort.”

“Hmph.” The Lady Minerva arched an eyebrow at him. “If you say so, Your Highness.” 

“I do,” Harry retorted. “I’m far more interested in the fact that you think I’d have to sue to have the betrothal reinstated.”

“Things can change a lot in 10 years,” Lady Minerva snapped. “Perhaps an alliance with the House of Gryffindor is no longer desired.”

Harry snorted. “If anyone tries to stop my lady, she will raze them and their factions to the ground.”

“You arrogant pillock,” Lady Minerva snarled indignantly. “If you think that you can just—”

Oliver cleared his throat.

“My lady,” Fay began hesitantly.

Lady Minerva paused mid-rant to turn and scowl at them.

“No,” Lady Minerva protested. She glared at everyone. “How do you know?”

“His Highness made it a special point to speak with the Young McGonagall,” Oliver explained.

“We can work the details out later,” Harry said with a shrug. “When my lady is recovered.”

“I would be careful, were I you, Your Highness,” Lady Minerva warned him. “You assume too much, and my daughter would leave you to twist in the wind. She’s not the little girl that worshipped the ground you walked on any longer.”

“I never wanted her to worship me,” Harry countered coolly.

“ _Mo bean-uasal_ ,” Oliver sighed. He stepped forward and put an arm around the McGonagall’s shoulder. “She’ll pull through. Our lass is too stubborn to do anything else.”

For the first time since she’d learned her daughter’s life hung in the balance, Lady Minerva leaned against Oliver. She seemed to crumple in on herself, and her fear and anxiety showed in the stark lines of her face. Tears shone in her eyes, and the horror that swamped Harry at the idea of the McGonagall Herself reduced to tears induced him to push his luck.

“She’s got too much of the McGonagall in her,” Harry muttered.

Fay snorted and pointed a finger at Harry. “You should get on your knees and thank the Lord of Light that my lady is as stubborn as the Spine itself.”

“I have already spent enough time speaking to the Lord of Light. He is well aware of my feelings for my lady,” Harry retorted.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Days passed and Harry caught sleep in fitful naps. More than once, he’d sat his arse in the hallway outside Hermione’s room and dozed with his back propped up against the wall. Neville had forced him to eat and bathe on a semi-regular basis, but he was just as anxious as Harry was about Hermione’s condition.

Healers had come in from all over Albion, but the Lady Minerva was reluctant to let just anyone attempt to heal her daughter. Harry had to admit that he couldn’t argue with Lady Minerva’s reasoning. Death Eaters, or at least one of them, had managed to infiltrate Slytherin Tower and attack Hermione. What if one of the Healers who had come to Avalon was also a Death Eater?

The Tower workers had vetted every single Healer allowed into Hermione’s rooms. _Donata_ Sinistra had personally seen to the teams that scanned the Healers. Hermione was receiving the best possible care available. Every time Draco left her room—looking half-dead—Harry tried to pump him for information before Draco ate and collapsed in a corner.

Every day was the same: Hermione was still struggling to hang on, the fevers were too high, and the Manifestation sickness was ravaging her body. Harry clung to hope with everything that was in him. He couldn’t lose Hermione, he _couldn’t_. He jerked to attention when Draco came barreling out of Hermione’s room.

“Who’s Charlie?” Draco demanded.

“Who?” Harry frowned at the unfamiliar name.

“Hermione keeps muttering ‘Charlie,’” Draco explained.

“Not Charlie,” Fay said with a frown. “She means Tearlach. He came with us to Slytherin Tower.”

“Who is Tearlach to Hermione?” Harry demanded.

Fay shook her head.

“He’s a Dunbar,” Fay explained. She paused and understanding dawned on her face. She turned to Draco. “What’s the biggest problem that the Healers are having?”

“We’re trying to keep her temperature down, but she burns through everything. It’s a combination of her pyrokinesis and the Manifestation sickness,” Draco explained.

A brilliant smile spread over Fay’s face. “Tearlach has a very weak form of hydrokinesis. He can keep the cloths damp, but that’s about the extent of his ability. Hermione probably thinks he could help the Healers.”

“Daphne has hydrokinesis as well,” Draco said pensively. He looked at Fay. “Get your Tearlach, and see if Daphne will come as well. We’ll take any help that we can get.”

If Draco was willing to use some mountain lad that could barely moisten a washcloth, then Hermione’s condition had to be desperate. Fear crawled down his spine, but he ignored it. His lady was a McGonagall—as stubborn and as contrary as the Spine itself. She would pull through this. She had to.

Minutes later, a lad who looked barely old enough to serve in the Guard came running into the hallway, Fay and Daphne close on his heels. All of his focus was on the McGonagall who was sitting in a folding chair that _Donata_ Sinistra had found somewhere in the Tower. Oliver Wood hovered about the McGonagall like an overprotective hound.

A quick spate of the Gaelic that was too fast for Harry to follow, and the McGonagall had straightened up in Oliver’s arms to nod at the boy. A faint smile flickered across her lips so rapidly that Harry wasn’t quite sure it had been there at all.

“I know you will, Tearlach. Just remember that we’re not in the Spine. Use the King’s tongue with the Healers,” Lady Minerva warned him sternly.

“Aye, McGonagall,” Tearlach swore fervently.

With a wave of his hands, Draco waved Tearlach and Daphne into Hermione’s room. As soon as the door shut behind them, Harry began to pace. How soon would he know if they were able to help? Jealousy gnawed at him and he sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. Some child with a rudimentary Gift could help where Harry, with all the power he wielded, had to stand by and do nothing.

Another day passed, or at least Harry thought it had been a day. Time had blurred in the hallway outside Hermione’s room. His eyes felt gritty and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d properly showered, but he was terrified to move too far away from Hermione.

When Draco and Tearlach came out of Hermione’s room looking grim, Harry’s stomach dropped. His hands clenched into fists and he pressed them into his thighs, struggling to control his emotions. The last thing anyone needed was for an actual whirlwind to whip through the hallway. Draco took a deep, slow breath and rotated his neck. Harry winced in sympathy at the series of cracks.

“Her pyrokinesis is our biggest problem now. She’s drifting in and out of consciousness, and she’s not lucid when she is conscious. Her fire is completely uncontrolled,” Draco explained grimly.

Suddenly there wasn’t enough air, and Harry couldn’t catch his breath. 

When the Slytherin contingent led by Theo Nott and Daphne Greengrass had come to him, dragging a half-dead Draco in their wake, there had been a child with them. The younger brother of Gregory Goyle. Matthias had been showing signs of Manifestation sickness, and they had brought him along. The Manifestation sickness made his pyrokinesis run wild, and Matthias had very nearly burned down a section of the Palace. They’d done everything they could to save him, but it hadn’t been enough. Matthias’ screams still rang in Harry’s nightmares some nights.

“What can we do?” Harry asked.

There had to be something that they could--that _he_ could do. Draco cleared his throat and looked at Tearlach.

“Tearlach here has an idea,” Draco said with a wave of his hand.

“What is it, Tearlach?” Lady Minerva asked, stand up and hurrying over to them.

“Catspaw, my lady,” Tearlach said firmly.

“Catspaw?” Lady Minerva repeated. She blinked and then frowned. “But… Poppy only has a couple of trainees.”

“No, my lady,” Tearlach corrected her. “The lake above Catspaw. It’s fed by mountain streams, and it’s ice-cold for much of the year.” He glanced nervously at Draco and then turned back to the McGonagall. “It might help keep her fever down.”

Lady Minerva closed her eyes and weaved on her feet until Tearlach stepped forward and grabbed her elbow.

“I am such a fool,” Lady Minerva whispered.

“No, my lady,” Tearlach protested. He turned to Oliver with beseeching eyes.

“The lake above Catspaw,” Oliver whispered. “Of course.”

Understanding and consternation spread among the McGonagalls and the Dunbars that were currently keeping watch in the hallway. Being out of the loop had never failed to frustrate Harry, and this time was no different.

“What’s so special about the lake above Catspaw?” Harry demanded.

“The primary Gift of the McGonagalls has always been pyrokinesis,” Lady Minerva explained. Her lips tightened and she shook her head. “Catspaw was built where it was _because_ of the high-mountain lake. We were able to manage the fevers of our burgeoning pyrokinetics with the lake, ensuring that more of our children survived Manifestation sickness. There’s a reason that the McGonagalls are one of the only families that ever consistently managed to produce pyrokinetic Primes.”

“So we need to get Hermione McGonagall to Catspaw as fast as possible,” Draco stated firmly. Tearlach was already shaking his head, a worried frown on his young face.

“It’s a week’s journey to Catspaw,” he protested.

“Not if we go by glider,” Harry countered. “Catspaw is just low enough in the mountains that it won’t cause ice on the wings this late in the year.”

“Where are we going to get a glider?” Lady Minerva worried aloud. “Or a pilot that we can trust?”

Harry cleared his throat. “I came in my glider, Lady Minerva. I’m more than willing to fly you to Catspaw, but I’ll really only have room for you, Hermione, and Draco.”

“Me?” Draco turned to Harry and blinked at him.

“She’ll need a Healer to travel with her, won’t she?” Harry pointed out.

“This is true,” Draco admitted cautiously. He frowned and looked at Lady Minerva. “Are you comfortable with this, My Lady? I know that my family has not given you any cause to trust me, but… I swear to you that I will do my best to bring her through her Manifestation sickness whole and hale.”

“I…I need to apologize,” Lady Minerva paused, a sour expression on her face. “I let my fear rule me, and I was inexcusably rude to you. I… I would be happy to welcome you to Catspaw. If you can do anything to—,” Lady Minerva swallowed and blinked rapidly.

“Of course, Lady Minerva,” Draco reassured her. He gave her a half-smile. “You are not the first distraught parent to lose their temper with me, and I daresay you won’t be the last.”

“Then it’s settled,” Harry said with a decisive nod. _Finally_ there was something he could do to help Hermione. “Can you get her ready for transport? I’ll move the glider to the front of the Tower.”

“We’ll get started right away,” Draco agreed. “We’ll need to prep her.” He turned to Oliver. “Can you have some of her people go to the kitchen and get as much ice as they’ll let you have? Bring as many buckets as you can to the Prince’s glider.”

“Aye,” Oliver promised. He glanced at the Dunbars and McGonagalls, and they took off running down the hall.

 

 


	6. Firestarter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco Malfoy fights to save Hermione McGonagall's life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-love to Auntie_L.

**Chapter Six: Firestarter**

 

Gliders were small aircraft that a pilot flew using telekinesis. Harry’s gift was unusual in that he was a pneumokinetic Prime and had the ability to manipulate air currents in addition to the regular gifts one needed to be labeled a Prime. His pneumokinesis and his telekinesis worked together so that he was able to fly his glider with more ease and skill than those who had to rely on telekinesis alone. He went through his pre-flight checklist while Oliver and Fay helped Draco load Hermione into the back of the glider.

The Healers had rigged what appeared to be a narrow, shallow cradle-looking structure. They were able to spread ice over the bottom of it in a thick layer, place Hermione into it, and then pack ice around her. She shifted restlessly in the confines of her ice cradle.

“ _Càit a bheil sinn_?” Hermione’s voice drifted up to the cockpit as did the soft murmur of Fay’s reply.

“Is she awake?” Harry asked, turning in his seat.

“Not really,” Draco sighed. “She’s still not completely lucid.”

“ _Màthair_ ,” Hermione’s voice rose fretfully.

“I’m here, sweeting,” Minerva crooned to Hermione. She brushed the damp hair of Hermione’s fringe off her forehead, and swiped a cool cloth over Hermione’s feverish skin. “ _Màthair_ is here.”

Turning away from Hermione to focus on the glider was one of the hardest things that Harry had ever done in his life. He continued with the pre-flight checklist, making sure that everything was perfect. He wasn’t going to risk Hermione’s life by being distracted. By the time he was ready, Draco had Minerva and Hermione settled in the back of the glider.

“Is everyone ready?” Harry asked, looking back over his shoulder.

“Hermione is secure,” Draco said. He glanced at Lady Minerva who nodded. “Both the Lady Minerva and I are buckled into our seats.”

“Standby for liftoff,” Harry replied.

The glider rose silently in the air while Harry extended his senses, looking for an updraft to help carry them toward the Spine. Deftly, he maneuvered the aircraft, guiding it toward their destination. Pneumokinesis ran in the Potter line, and Harry had learned to love flying at an early age. One of his earliest memories was sitting in his father’s lap as James flew over the palace.

Flying had always given him a sense of freedom, a way to escape the duties and obligations that filled his life. When Harry was in the air, in command of his glider, he was able to control everything. When Harry was on the ground, subject to the will of the Crown and the council, he sometimes felt as though the only thing he was able to control were his own thoughts.

As the glider swung in an arc into the Spine, Harry spotted a couple of tartan-clad people clinging to trees that towered above the foothills. Each person had a long-distance viewer trained on his glider. He frowned at the tartans, trying to remember to which clan they belonged.

“Lady Minerva?” Harry called.

“Aye?” Minerva called back.

“Can you identify these tartans?”

Cautiously, Minerva made her way to the cockpit of the glider. She slid into the navigator’s seat and leaned forward, peering out the windshield. She relaxed after a moment and leaned back.

“Those are MacMillans,” Minerva replied. “Their land abuts the foothills, and they always keep a sharp eye out for potential Death Eater encroachments.”

Harry frowned. “Is that a problem?”

“We’ve been rooting out Death Eaters since before the war ended,” Minerva replied acerbically. “They assume that the Spine will be an easy place for them to hide, but we take pleasure in proving them wrong.”

“Will anyone think that we’re a Death Eater glider?” Harry asked with a frown.

“I don’t think so,” Minerva said. “Death Eaters usually try to sneak in through the passes.”

“ _Màthair_ ,” Hermione called out anxiously.

“I’m coming, sweeting,” Minerva called back. She slid out of the navigator seat, and headed toward the back of the glider.

After a moment, Minerva began to sing a lullaby in Gaelic, her voice rising and falling as Harry flew into the Spine. It had been years since he’d heard Gaelic on a regular basis. Even the sound of it had reminded him of Hermione, and he had avoided it whenever he could. He could only pick a few words out of the song. Perhaps his lady would be willing to help him study again.

 

 

/\/\/\/\/\

 

When they arrived in Catspaw, Harry carefully landed the glider in the designated landing area. As soon as they opened the glider’s doors, people crowded around. They watched silently as Draco fussed with Hermione’s portable ice-cradle.

“Harry, I need you to levitate this while I monitor her vitals,” Draco commanded imperiously.

“Where do you want it?” Harry asked as he climbed out of the cockpit.

“This lake, where is it?” Draco turned to Minerva.

“It’s up above Catspaw.” Minerva pointed to a trail. “It’s a wee hike.”

“Lady Minerva?”

It was impossible to tell who had called out, but the McGonagall turned to face her people with her spine perfectly straight and her chin lifted.

“A plot to assassinate Lady Hermione has triggered Manifestation sickness,” Lady Minerva informed her people. A shocked ripple went through the crowd. The McGonagall visibly steeled herself for what she would say next. “I must ask that you all stay away from the lake unless you are required to assist the Healers. As an adult, Lady Hermione is struggling with Manifesting her Gift.”

A soft murmur and then the crowd nodded to Lady Minerva before slipping away to wherever they’d come from. A small knot of people removed. A woman in Healer’s robes stepped forward with a worried frown.

“What’s her status?” The woman asked Draco.

“Stable for now,” Draco replied. “But we’re struggling to control her fever and her fire.”

The woman turned to stare at Minerva. “A pyrokinetic?”

“A pyrokinetic Prime,” Minerva corrected her. She took a deep breath. “Healer Draco has managed to keep her alive this long, and he is considered an expert in Manifestation sickness.”

“I’m not about to do anything that will risk Lady Hermione’s health,” the woman protested.

“I know that Poppy,” Minerva huffed irritably.

Draco cleared his throat. “I think what her ladyship is struggling to say is that I am a Malfoy.”

The Healer and the little knot of people eyed Draco with suspicion.

“The lad has made his oath to the Crown and has sworn vassalage to the Crown Prince,” Minerva added. “His grace, the Duke of Montagu, used the Cowl of Truth.”

“You heard the McGonagall,” Poppy said firmly. She turned to Draco. “Well? What do you need us to do?”

“It’s my understanding that the McGonagalls traditionally use the lake above Catspaw to help those with pyrokinesis through their Manifestation,” Draco explained quickly.

The other Healers nodded.

“So we need to get Lady Hermione to the lake?” The Healer guessed.

“Exactly so,” Draco agreed.

“Then let’s go,” The Healer suggested.

It took some time to reach the lake, and then Harry was slowly lowering Hermione into the lake. He needed to levitate her just enough that her body remained submerged in the lake, and her head remained above water.

“Much better,” Draco announced after he scanned her vitals. A small half-smile played around his mouth.

“Poppy?” Minerva asked anxiously.

The other Healer frowned as she used her Gift to monitor Hermione.

“It all looks within the normal ranges for a burgeoning pyrokinetic,” Poppy said slowly.

“What now?” Harry asked.

“We wait,” Draco replied with a shrug. “Each Manifestation is unique to the Gifted. It might be a couple of days or it might be a couple of weeks. It all depends on Lady Hermione.”

 

/\/\/\/\/\

 

 

 _Cold_. Hermione was so very cold. She shifted, searching for her blanket, and her hand touched ice. Hermione jerked, her eyes snapping open. She was surrounded by ice. There was even a layer of ice spread over her.

“Hermione?” Fay hurried to stand next to her. “How do you feel?”

“Fucking cold, Fay,” Hermione snapped. “What the hell, Fay? Why have you buried me in ice?”

“You Manifested, my lady,” Fay explained quickly.

“I…I what?” Hermione stared at her vassal. She had heard the words, but they made no sense at all.

After countless years of hoping and waiting, she had Manifested? How? How could it be possible? 

“Can’t you feel it, my lady?” Fay asked.

After a moment, Hermione took a deep breath and closed her eyes. There had been a feeling of something pressing in on her, and Hermione had assumed that it was the ice, but now she realized that it was a mental pressing rather than a physical pressing. There was an itch under her skin, a spark on the edge of her senses. She opened her eyes and tilted her head slightly.

“I feel… something,” she admitted.

“We’ll have to get you training,” Fay reminded her. “I don’t know if Herself will trust any Tower in Albion after what happened to you.”

“What happened?” Hermione asked with a frown.

“Do you remember going to the gardens alone?” Fay asked.

Hermione nodded. “Yes… the Heiress of Ross is an obnoxious twat.”

Fay winced. “Ginevra Weasley was an unfortunate choice.”

“After that… it all goes fuzzy,” Hermione admitted.

“You were poisoned by a fucking Death Eater,” Fay told her with a dark scowl. “I doubt there’s much left of the bastard. His highness had Neville deal with whoever it was.”

“I was poisoned?” Hermione struggled to make sense of Fay’s words. To go from being poisoned to Manifesting seemed a leap of gargantuan proportions.

“Yes. Draco can explain it much better than I can, but it triggered Manifestation sickness,” Fay explained.

“ _Draco_?” Hermione repeated incredulously.

“Yes, he’s been your primary Healer through everything,” Fay replied with an earnest expression.

“Fay… how long was I ill?” Hermione asked.

“It’s been almost three months, my lady,” Fay admitted. Tears trembled on Fay’s lashes and she shook her head. “We almost lost you several times.”

“Is Herself alright?” Hermione chewed on her lower lip.

“The McGonagall is fine,” Fay reassured her. “Everyone has been keeping an eye on her. Don’t you worry, my lady.”

The cold pressed in on Hermione, reminding her that she was sitting in some kind of ice bath. She shifted in the ice.

“I’m cold,” Hermione announced with a pout. “Can I get out of this thing?”

“Let me get Healer Malfoy,” Fay replied. She frowned at Hermione. “Your Gift is incredibly strong, my lady. We needed to keep you as cold as possible.”

“My Gift?” Hermione repeated in surprise.

“The McGonagall Gift,” Fay said softly.

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Pyrokinesis?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Get Healer Malfoy, but get my mother as well,” Hermione ordered. Fay nodded.

“Of course, my lady.”

The door to her rooms flew open, and her mother hurried to her side. Healer Malfoy followed closely behind her, but her attention was focussed on her mother. Hermione reached out a hand to clutch at her mother’s hands. Minerva bit her lip and blinked rapidly. 

 _:Thank all the gods_. _Perhaps Healer Malfoy is useful after all_. _:_

“ _Màthair_ ,” Hermione said. Confused by the random thoughts about Healer Malfoy, she blinked. “I’m so sorry for scaring you.”

“I forgive you, my sweeting,” Her mum replied, a tired smile on her lips. “I’m just glad that you are well.”

“Let’s just scan you, Lady Hermione,” Healer Malfoy said in a crisp, professional manner.

For the first time in her life, Hermione could feel a Healer use their Gift on her. It wasn’t unpleasant–but it was odd. The sensation of his Gift brushing against her senses from head to toe made her shift in her ice bath. He seemed to pause at certain points, and she wondered why.

“I’m checking all of your internal organs, my lady,” Healer Malfoy replied absently. “Your pyrokinesis endangered them at several points during your Manifestation. I just need to make sure that everything looks well.”

“Did you… did I…,” Hermione paused not sure what she wanted to say.

“You are projecting just a wee bit,” Minerva explained. She shook her head. “We’ll need to help you develop a shield.”

“I can help her with that, Lady Minerva,” Healer Malfoy offered hesitantly. “Because I work so often with Manifestation sickness, I’ve learned how to help my patients develop basic mental shields to protect themselves.”

“I’m certain that’s a good plan, but can I get out of this ice bath first?” Hermione protested.

“Oh!” A faint blush spread over Healer Malfoy’s cheeks. “I apologize, Lady Hermione. You should be fine to get out of the ice bath. It would be best if you tried to remain as calm as possible until you develop a level of control over your gifts.”

“Is there a reason why I would not be calm?” Hermione asked with a frown.

“No.” Healer Malfoy shook his head. “It’s just a general advisory we pass along to anyone with an elemental kinesis.”

“Right. So… do I need that shield to get out of the bath?” Hermione asked with a frown.

“No, of course not,” Healer Malfoy replied. Calmly, he stepped forward and took her hand, helping her out of the tub. “Fay? Can you help your lady get dressed? As soon as you’re ready, I’ll come back in.”

Left alone, Fay helped Hermione into her bathroom.

_:I have never been so grateful that my lady was a stubborn arse.:_

“Hey!” Hermione protested as Fay methodically stripped her and pushed her into the shower. Her eyebrows rose in surprise when Fay followed her into the shower.

“Those without shields can’t whinge about what they hear; it’s a rule,” Fay informed her haughtily. Then she turned on the hot water. “Try not to pass out. If you feel faint or light-headed–tell me.”

“Fay,” Hermione began with a frown.

“My lady,” Fay countered with a raised eyebrow. “You’ve been ill for 3 months. You might feel alright at the moment, but chances are, you’re going to end up lightheaded and weak in the knees. Do you want me in here, or Oliver?”

“You, I guess,” Hermione replied.

“Thank you,” Fay said drily. “The overwhelming faith of my liege lady buoys me up in times of darkness.”

With Fay’s help, Hermione was able to bathe quickly and efficiently. Once they were out, Fay helped her get dressed in soft, loose clothing, and then helped her out to her rooms. Healer Malfoy swept in a moment later, his robes swirling about him.

“Very good,” he said approvingly. “Let’s begin, shall we?”

Building a rudimentary shield was difficult. Hermione tried to follow Healer Malfoy’s careful coaxing, but she struggled to hold her shield in place and it faltered. A flash of something brushed against Hermione’s awareness. A sense of concentration and focus.

“Is that you?” Hermione asked.

Healer Malfoy blinked at her. “What do you sense, my lady?”

“Your focus? I think?” Hermione offered hesitantly.

“Your empathy is rudimentary, but it is there,” Healer Malfoy explained. He sucked on his lower lip for a moment. “We’ll have to make sure that we shield emotions as well.”

Hours later and Hermione was sweating and exhausted.

“Don’t tell Mum, but this is worse than sword practice,” Hermione groaned when Healer Malfoy called their session to an end.

Healer Malfoy grinned at that. The normally serious-looking Healer suddenly looked boyish. 

“I told my mum the same thing after my Manifestation,” he told her. Then he seemed to freeze, and an impersonal mask slid over his features. “I should leave you to rest. I’ll have Fay come check on you.”

Frustration welled up in Hermione when she was confined to her rooms, but Healer Malfoy refused to yield until she had functioning shields. She glared at him furiously, and the curtains on her windows caught on fire. Hermione gasped, staring at the flames in horror. Fay ran to the bathroom and brought back a small tub of water to throw at the window.

“Fine,” Hermione huffed. “I’ll stay here until I can shield properly.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Healer Malfoy drawled with a raised eyebrow.

A lot of hard work and two weeks later, Hermione was finally allowed to leave her rooms. Both Fay and Oliver hovered over her as she slowly made her way down to the Great Hall. She had spent the time sequestered in her rooms slowly stretching and working her muscles, trying to repair the months she’d spent ill, but it was slow going. She was not looking forward to her first sword practice, that was for certain.

When they finally arrived in the Great Hall, Hermione stared in surprise at the unusually full room. Standing next to her mother was her godmother, Marlene McKinnon, and Marlene’s wife, Dorcas. Hermione grinned so widely that her cheeks hurt. She broke away from Fay and Oliver to run forward and hug her godmother.

“I am _so_ glad to see you well, Young McGonagall,” Marlene whispered into Hermione’s hair. Dorcas joined their hug, squeezing Hermione between herself and Marlene.

“When we heard that you’d Manifested, and with the McGonagall gift,” Dorcas added in a thick voice. “Thank the gods you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” Hermione promised. “It’s so good to see you both. How’s the McKinnon?”

“He’s still a grumpy arsehole,” Marlene said drily. Then she smiled. “But he sends his regards and a hogshead of wine.”

“Sit down, Hermione, before you fall down,” her mum ordered.

Once Hermione sat down, each member of Clan McGonagall came up one at a time to assure themselves that their heir was alright. Used to her people and their territorial view of her, Hermione sat patiently and spoke to each person who approached.

“Are you tired at all, Hermione?” Minerva asked worriedly. “Oliver can take you upstairs if you need to rest.”

“I’m fine, Mum,” Hermione reassured her. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing,” Minerva protested. “I just want to make sure that you don’t overtax yourself.”

“Overtax myself?” Hermione blinked at her mother in confusion. “By sitting in a chair?”

“Lady Hermione.”

Hermione turned in surprise. “Lady Daphne. What in Godric’s name are you doing here?”

“Lady Daphne helped during your Manifestation sickness,” her mum explained. “Her Gift is hydrokinesis.”

“Thank you, Lady Daphne. The House of McGonagall owes you a boon,” Hermione offered a formal thank you as courtesy dictated.

Daphne gave her one of the wicked grins with which Hermione was rapidly becoming familiar.

“And if I ask only for a kiss, my lady?” Daphne asked.

Hermione snorted in amusement and shook her head. “I fear for the future of House Greengrass if that’s how you use your boons.”

“Not all of them, my lady,” Daphne said with a shake of her head. She tilted her head at Hermione. “What do you say, my lady?”

“I say that you are a cheeky lass, and you’re going to get yourself in trouble,” Hermione replied tartly. “Are you sure you want to tease someone who can set you on fire?”

“Oh my lady,” Daphne breathed. “I _adore_ playing with fire.”

“You are nothing but trouble,” Hermione huffed. She waved a hand at Daphne. “Come here, then.”

The kiss began simply, but Daphne flicked her tongue teasingly at Hermione’s lips, and she obligingly opened her mouth under Daphne’s, granting greater access. The faint taste of wine lingered on Daphne’s tongue, and Hermione chased it, kissing the other woman deeply. Daphne pulled back suddenly and Hermione blinked up at her. Daphne was slapping at the sleeve of her gown, which had begun to smolder.

“Perhaps you were right, my lady,” Daphne sighed.

“Just give her some time, lass,” Marlene said with an encouraging wink. “It always takes the McGonagalls a bit of time to get control of their Gift. Not singeing your sweetheart gives you a bit of incentive.”

“Lady Daphne is not my sweetheart,” Hermione retorted. “She’s just utterly shameless.”

“Ah, a lass after my own heart,” Marlene countered. She turned to Daphne and looked her over slowly. “As godmother, I approve.”

“Aunt Marlene!”

Slowly, Hermione turned to see Harry standing off to the side with an irritated expression on his face. Her godmother shrugged helplessly and waved a hand at Daphne.

“Sorry, lad. I was distracted by a pretty face,” Marlene pointed out.

“Your Highness,” Hermione whispered. He moved slowly and purposefully, stalking her like one of the big cats that lived in the Spine, until he stood before her chair.

“My lady,” Harry replied and quirked an eyebrow at her, as though daring her to contradict him.

A blush spread across her cheeks and down her neck. He had followed her from Slytherin Tower all the way to the Spine. She bit her lip and stared up at him, watching with wide eyes the way his eyes darkened and focused on her. A wind that seemed to come from nowhere brushed against her cheek and made her curls move. It took her a moment to realize that Harry was letting his Gift brush against her–that he was flirting with her, even if it wasn’t quite as ostentatious as Daphne. Her blush grew even darker, and he grinned at her.

The urge to flirt back flooded Hermione, and then she realized that she _could_. Harry had followed her all the way to the Spine, she had Manifested, and she could use her Gift to flirt with him. _She had Manifested_. Harry was here, and she had Manifested. She wasn’t even aware that she was crying until Harry was kneeling on the ground in front of her, taking her hands and murmuring to her.

“Sweetheart?” He crooned. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re here,” she sobbed helplessly. Harry blinked at her and frowned.

“Where else would I be?”

That only made Hermione cry harder until finally Harry swept her up in his arms and carried her back up to her room, Fay trailing behind him making distressed noises. Carefully, they got her back into bed, and tucked the blanket around her. Hermione grabbed at Harry’s hand when he moved to leave her room.

“This is exactly what I meant when I said ‘overtaxed,’” Minerva snapped as she marched through Hermione’s door.

“Mum,” Hermione protested.

“I warned him to leave you alone so that you could properly recover, but does he listen to me? No, and why would he? It’s not as though I’m your mother or anything,” Minerva ranted as she made her way over to Harry. She waved a finger in Harry’s face. “You may be the Crown Prince of Albion, but I am the McGonagall of Catspaw, and you are _in_ Catspaw!”

“I meant no disrespect, Lady Minerva,” Harry argued. He gestured to Hermione. “I just wanted to see her.”

“Well you’ve seen her,” Minerva said and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Mum,” Hermione sighed. “Please.”

“You just got well, sweeting,” Minerva protested. “Your control is still faulty.”

“Then I guess he’s staying at his own risk then,” Hermione said with a slight smile.

A slow smirk spread over Minerva’s face as she looked at Harry.

“I suppose he is. Very well.” She glared fiercely at Harry. “You will let her rest. If you do anything to upset her, I will convince your friends to let you burn.”

“I will let her rest. I swear it to you, Lady Minerva,” Harry promised.

“Hmph.” Minerva sniffed and marched out of Hermione’s room, Fay trailing after her.


	7. Urquart's Gambit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Harry and Hermione have a chance to get reacquainted? Or will the Houses of Urquart and Ross interfere?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Auntie_L is a rock star. In between life and family and everything else-- she very graciously keeps me from making an utter fool of myself.

**Chapter Seven: Urquart’s Gambit**

 

“You’re here,” Hermione said again.

“I’m here,” he agreed.

That was so strange to Hermione. She couldn’t quite comprehend that Harry was standing in her bedroom at Catspaw. She had the feeling that if she blinked, it might yet turn out to be some sort of strange dream. Fay would wake her up, and she would still be at Slytherin Tower.

“Why?” Hermione asked.

Slowly, Harry’s eyebrows rose and a little furrow appeared between his brows. He sat down in the chair next to her bed and leaned forward, taking one of her hands. The sensation of his thumb slowly rubbing over her knuckles was soothing, and she leaned back against her pillows.

“The Houses of Ross and Urquart decided your fate for you years ago,” Harry said cautiously, and Hermione tensed under his hand. “Your mother told me what she promised you—that she would never let another House dictate your fate.” 

“She did,” Hermione agreed.

“I admire the fact that your mother wants to protect you,” Harry continued. He took a deep breath and he let it out slowly. “It helps that your people are so devoted to you.”

“Harry, what are you trying to say?” Hermione asked with a frown.

“I don’t have that luxury, Hermione,” Harry said gently. “I am the Crown Prince of Albion and the Heir of Gryffindor. My father loves me, but he still has to answer to the Crown Council.”

“I… I think I understand,” Hermione replied. She let the soothing touch of Harry’s thumb on her skin ground her. The thumb stopped moving, and Hermione looked at Harry who was watching her.

“Do you?” He asked. “My princess will be a member of the House of Gryffindor. Can you… are you willing to put yourself in that position?”

“Oh,” Hermione breathed softly. Tears filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. “You stupid man.”

“I need you to say the words, sweetheart,” Harry sighed.

“I want _you_ ,” Hermione stated. “Whatever I need to do to have you, I’ll do it.”

A slow grin spread over Harry’s face.

“So you’ll be my princess?” He asked. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “You’re willing to marry into the House of Gryffindor?”

“You have to ask his majesty’s permission,” Hermione reminded him. “And it has to be ratified by the Crown Council.”

“If King James refused his permission, I think Dad and Mum would never speak to him again. They’d probably move out of the palace altogether,” Harry said drily.

“There’s still the Crown Council,” Hermione muttered.

“If you were the Heiress of Ross and Urquart again,” Harry suggested with a raised eyebrow.

“The House of Ross might be willing, but Lavender Brown has been a good Heiress—she’s executed her duties and fulfilled her obligations to the best of her ability. I don’t know that I would agree if the House of Urquart would want to change,” Hermione countered.

“You were their first choice for a reason,” Harry protested.

“Aye. Mum is a Ross on her mother’s side, and the House of Ross is Matrilineal,” Hermione explained.

“And the House of Urquart?” Harry asked with a frown.

“That’s… a little more complicated,” Hermione sighed. Her cheeks flushed and she looked away from Harry. “My mum contracted with the Heir to the House of Urquart for her heir. He fulfilled the contract and was killed in an accident just before I was born. He never had the opportunity to produce his own heir, and the House of Urquart sued my mum for joint rights.”

“Won’t they attempt to reclaim you?” Harry asked curiously.

Hermione snorted in amusement.

“Harry, why do you think my mum swore that no House would dictate my fate? She _meant_ the House of Urquart. She was furious when they sued for heir-rights to me, and then threw me away when I wasn’t quite what they wanted. She threatened to have Oliver set fire to the last messenger from Urquart,” Hermione explained.

“Why wasn’t she as furious about the House of Ross?” Harry asked.

“I think it was because Mum expected that,” Hermione replied. She chewed on her lower lip. “She knew that Elinor Ross was the last of the House of Ross. The hope was that I would marry and have at least one girl who could take the last name Ross.”

“And she wasn’t expecting the Urquarts?” Harry guessed.

“It was more that they didn’t even speak to Mum. They went straight to the Crown Council and sued for joint-heirship. The dowager Duchess of Eccles told Mum that they tried to get exclusive heirship, but that was shot down immediately since Mum had filed the contract with the council months before.” Hermione scowled darkly. “It was a cowardly move, and Mum never quite forgave them for it.”

“Are they going to go after you again?” Harry asked with a frown. Hermione shrugged.

“I don’t know? They seem happy with Lavender Brown. Her mother was my father’s cousin.” Hermione threaded her fingers with Harry’s. “They might regret forcing my hand.”

“Of that, I have no doubt at all,” Harry muttered. He cupped her cheek with his other hand. “I’m going to kiss you now, but I don’t want your mum to yell at me if you set the bed on fire.”

“I will do my very best not to set the bed on fire,” Hermione replied as Harry drew closer. “But if I do, we’ll just blame the House of Urquart.”

A soft, breathy laugh left Harry’s lips just before he kissed Hermione. The gentle press of lip to lip was almost chaste. Harry untangled his fingers from hers so that he could cup her face, but soon his fingers slid into her hair, cupping her head carefully. Methodically, with a single-minded focus, Harry kissed her until she was panting into his mouth. He pulled back to smile at her smugly.

“No more boons to the House of Greengrass,” he informed her.

“Do you really think that will stop Daphne?” Hermione asked incredulously.

“I don’t share well,” he growled against her lips.

“I remember,” Hermione giggled. She shook her head. “That poor ambassador’s son. You were such a bastard to him.”

“He was flirting with my lady right in front of me,” Harry defended himself.

“So, we won’t be following in your parents’ footsteps?” Hermione asked with a teasing smile.

“No,” Harry replied firmly. “I lost you for ten years, and I’m afraid I’m feeling rather selfish.”

Impulsively, Hermione pressed a kiss to his jaw. “I’m feeling a little selfish myself,” she whispered against his skin. Harry groaned and pulled back from her.

“You’re still recovering. If I push you any farther, your mum will have my bollocks,” Harry warned her.

Hermione sighed and flopped back onto her pillows. “I like your bollocks where they are. You should probably go downstairs before Mum comes to check on you.”

“Rest.” Harry brushed his lips over her forehead. “Do you want me to send Fay in?”

“I guess so,” Hermione sighed.

“I’ll let her know,” Harry promised.

 

* * *

 

 

The runner was spotted by the MacMillans who sent a message by trained eagle. Jordan Lee, the falcon master, handed the message over to the McGonagall, and then took his charge out to the mews. Lady Minerva picked up the small, lightweight tube that had been strapped to the eagle’s leg and uncapped it, pulling out a tightly wound scroll.

“Well, it took them long enough,” she huffed irritably.

“Which one?” Hermione sighed. Minerva held out the offending scroll, and Hermione accepted it cautiously.

“Both of them,” Minerva snapped. “Somehow that idiot Malcolm has managed to convince Elinor that they could make you a joint heiress of both Houses.”

“What on earth does Malcolm Urquart think he’s going to accomplish?” Hermione wondered.

Minerva snorted. “He’s hoping we’ll be swayed by sentiment for the House of Ross.”

“If I don’t burn Urquart Manor to the ground,” Hermione retorted.

“You can’t raze the family estate of a member of the Crown Council, my lady,” Fay chided her as she set down a cup of tea. She squinted at Hermione. “If you’re feeling contrary, we can always visit the salle.”

“Which Council member are you threatening to set on fire?” Harry asked as he strolled to the dais. He dropped a kiss on the top of Hermione’s hair and sat down next to her.

“Malcolm Urquart,” Hermione grumbled. She passed the scroll to Harry who read it and then turned to frown at Minerva.

“Has Urquart lost his mind?” Harry asked with a grave expression.

“What makes you ask that, Your Highness?” Minerva countered acerbically.

“I’ve never known anyone who was stupid enough to piss off the entire McGonagall clan,” Harry pointed out.

“The Dumbledores did.” Hermione took a sip of her tea and exchanged a smug smirk with her mother.

“Isn’t the House of Dumbledore defunct?” Harry asked with a frown.

“Aye. It is,” Lady Minerva replied. She turned to look at Harry. “In all your studying, did you never ask how the Lake of Glass came to be?”

“Mum said it was an example of a Wilding, and proof as to why Tower training was so important,” Harry answered promptly. He frowned when Hermione and Minerva exchanged another look. “Was that wrong?”

“It’s accurate enough,” Minerva allowed. “It just isn’t the whole truth.”

“Juno McGonagall Manifested during the Plains Wars,” Hermione explained. “She was betrothed to Mordred Peverell. The Spine was far more insular in those days, and the McGonagalls were looking to create ties outside the Spine.”

“Aye, but the Peverells had requested that she wait until after the marriage to do her Tower training as they wanted her to go to Hufflepuff Tower, which was closer to their lands,” Minerva added. “Galahad Dumbledore met her when her retinue stopped at their estate and requested hearth space for the night.”

“The foul bastard violated the sanctity of hospitality,” Fay added and she turned and spat on the ground angrily.

To Harry’s surprise, the other McGonagalls–including Hermione and Minerva–also turned and spat on the ground.

“He attempted to restrain Juno McGonagall against her will. We believe his plan may have been to force the McGonagall at the time to break the betrothal contract, and allow a Dumbledore to marry the girl,” Minerva snapped.

“Not that he got a chance to do that,” Hermione added with satisfaction.

“What happened?” Harry asked with a frown.

“Juno tried to protect herself, but her control was almost nonexistent,” Minerva explained with a solemn expression. Her gaze flicked to Hermione and her lips pressed firmly together. “Her fire overtook her in the largest Wilding on record. Lord Mordred recorded that the fire lasted for nine days, and when it ended, the Lake of Glass was where the Dumbledore lands used to be.”

“You would think that Malcolm would know better,” Hermione huffed.

“Elphinstone was the best of that lot,” Minerva muttered with a grimace.

With a sigh, Hermione set her tea down and turned to Fay.

“We probably should go out to the salle. If I don’t find some way to calm down, I’ll end up breaking the Spine,” Hermione said.

“Of course, my lady,” Fay agreed. “Why don’t you change and I’ll meet you out there.”

Rising from her chair, Hermione leaned forward and kissed Harry’s cheek. He watched his lady leave the hall, before turning back to Lady Minerva. The older woman gave him a pointed look.

“I’m being careful,” Harry stated with a roll of his eyes.

“Have you ever been around a burgeoning firestarter?” Oliver asked, using the common colloquial term for a pyrokinetic.

“No,” Harry admitted.

“Until they’re trained they can be a danger to themselves and everyone around them,” Oliver said. He held out his hand and flames danced on his fingertips for a minute.

“Hermione has always been a very focussed, controlled child. You remember how she was about her studies?” Minerva asked with a small smile.

“She was always so excited to learn something new,” Harry murmured and the corner of his mouth twitched upwards. “She was a horror when we had recitations, but her love for knowledge was infectious.”

“She will try to master her fire, and she will grow frustrated with each failure,” Lady Minerva said grimly.

“And each failure will trigger an emotional flare,” Harry muttered. He fisted his hand against his thigh, and took a deep breath. “Bloody hell.”

“Unfortunately, Bloody Malcolm Urquart has tipped our hand,” Lady Minerva continued. “We will _have_ to deal with the Houses of Ross and Urquart before we send her for her training.”

“Daphne and Draco can help,” Harry offered. When Minerva grimaced, Harry leaned forward. “My lady, I promise you that Draco Malfoy would sooner cut off his arm than harm my lady.”

“And Daphne Greengrass?” Minerva asked drily. Harry scowled at her.

“She has been trained to help Manifesting Gifted. She knows how to help them meditate, and in Hermione’s case she might be able to douse her with water if she’s on the brink of losing control,” Harry pointed out. “The fact that she constantly flirts with my lady is galling, but if I’m willing to put up with it, I don’t see why you can’t.”

“I know that Malfoy is your sworn man, but it makes me nervous to have the both of them loose in Catspaw,” Minerva muttered.

“The Young McGonagall never had a bad feeling about Daphne,” Oliver offered, and then he flushed a dull red when Minerva and Harry turned to look at him.

“A bad feeling?” Harry repeated. He frowned at Oliver. “What does that mean?”

“Remember when I said that Hermione was latent?” Minerva asked.

Harry nodded. “Yes, you said that it was very close to the surface, and they expected her to Manifest.”

“She’s always had a… gut instinct for situations and people. It’s not precognition, or any actual Gift. It doesn’t show on any test, but she’s never, ever wrong,” Minerva explained. She glanced at Oliver and sighed. “We’ll trust that Daphne won’t harm my daughter.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The give and take of sword practice had always fascinated Hermione. She had been trained with a group of other little girls her age at the House of Ross. Their swordsmistress had been a stern teacher–blunt, but fair. She had taught the girls how to use their smaller size and shorter reach against bigger opponents. Once the girls had gained a little mastery, she’d given them each a dirk, and taught them some down and dirty vicious knife fighting.

It had been months since Hermione had an actual work out, and she was sweating and panting in an embarrassingly short amount of time. Her muscle memory was still there, but the muscles strained to do what they needed to do. Hermione had gritted her teeth and pushed herself to her limits. When she finally conceded, she had collapsed in a heap on the floor of the salle. Fay had the temerity to laugh at her liege lady and poke at her with the tip of her practice sword.

“Do you yield, my lady?” Fay asked with a laugh. Hermione glared through slitted eyes.

“Ugh,” Hermione groaned. “Fine. Yes. I yield.”

“I told you that was too much, too soon,” Fay reminded her.

“Yes, yes, I know,” Hermione grumbled. “I was a stubborn idiot.”

“I didn’t say anything about you being an idiot,” Fay protested.

“No, you didn’t,” Hermione agreed. She lay on the floor of the salle, breathing in and out, staring at dust motes that floated lazily in the sunbeams that filtered in through the high windows. “Fay?”

“Yes, Lady Hermione?” Fay looked up from polishing her dirk.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so… all over the place lately,” Hermione said quietly.

“My lady,” Fay sighed. “I can’t even imagine being in your place. Your entire life has been turned upside down. I think you have every right to be upset.” She shook her head and sat down next to Hermione. “I would be a little worried if you _weren’t_ struggling.”

“It’s… it’s a little overwhelming,” Hermione admitted in the privacy of the salle.

“It can be,” Fay agreed. “I remember getting into a fight with my brother, and my things went flying around my room. I managed to scare myself half-to-death and couldn’t call my Gift for a month.”

“I haven’t done that yet,” Hermione admitted with a frown. “It’s mostly been my fire.”

“You’re a pyrokinetic.” Fay shrugged. “That’s normal for you lot. Oliver had the damnedest time because his Gift was so weak. He really had to struggle to master it.”

“I can’t even imagine that,” Hermione protested.

Her entire life, Oliver had been there, watching over her. He had always seemed so mature, so in control. The idea of Oliver struggling with _anything_ was so foreign that it made her uncomfortable.

“There aren’t that many elemental kinetics,” Fay explained. She spread her hands in front of her. “The aristocratic families tend to skew the percentages, but the average Gifted may have one or two strong gifts, and then one or two weaker gifts.”

“Mum says I’m a Prime,” Hermione murmured.

“Herself would know,” Fay said matter-of-factly. Hermione nodded slowly.

“What does that mean, exactly?” Hermione asked. “Gifted use the term, but they never really say what a Prime _is_.”

“I should leave this to Daphne or Harry,” Fay muttered, and Hermione reached out and touched Fay’s leather arm-guard.

“Please,” Hermione said quietly.

Fay nodded and paused for a moment.

“The major Gifts that the Towers use to keep Albion connected are apportation, teleportation, telesthesia, telepathy, and telekinesis,” Fay explained carefully. “A Prime will present with all of those Gifts at a rating of 5 or higher.”

“How would Mum know what my ratings are?” Hermione asked with a frown.

“She worked in the Towers for years. After some time, you can just sense someone with a very strong gift,” Fay replied. “You have limited control and you’re projecting a bit.”

“What if I lose control?” Hermione asked anxiously. “What if my Gift flares and I become a Wilding?”

“That won’t happen, my lady,” Fay said fiercely. She turned to glare at Hermione, her dark eyes glittering. “We will help you to control your Gift and you will be fine.”

“I hope that you’re right,” Hermione sighed. “Come on, we should head back, or Herself will send a search party out for us.”

Fay snorted. “Or His Highness will panic and come looking for you.”

“That is also a possibility,” Hermione admitted. She wrinkled her nose in irritation. “He has been very… careful. I don’t think he was this decorous when we were fourteen and he figured out girls, and realized that I was one.”

“Surely not,” Fay laughed. “His Highness has always known that you were to be his wife.”

“There’s knowing, and there’s _knowing_ ,” Hermione said drily. “When you’re nine years old, it’s a sort of nebulous idea. When you’re fourteen, your hormones are raging, and you live in a Tower with other teenagers–you figure a lot of things out quickly. He was afraid to touch me when he came home for his first holiday.”

“What on earth did he think would happen?” Fay asked with a curious glint in her eye.

“Later he told me that he was afraid he would project all over me if he touched me,” Hermione explained. She giggled and shook her head. “He treated me like I was spun glass for months. Finally, I had enough and I dragged him into a linen closet to snog him senseless.”

“I imagine His Highness is just being cautious,” Fay offered. “If you become emotional, your fire will slip your control. It’s not as much fun to snog someone in a linen closet if all the towels catch fire.”

“Surely, we can do more than hold hands and trade kisses,” Hermione protested.

Fay snickered. “You probably could, but His Highness isn’t going to do anything that risks you, or might upset Herself.”

“It’s frustrating,” Hermione grumbled in irritation. “I’m almost 30 years old. Herself has never had a problem with me taking my pleasure where I will. If she did, I might give her a stern lecture about the way she let Damocles Belby chase her all over the last Clan Gathering of the Spine.”

The instant and complete fascination that Damocles Belby had developed for Minerva McGonagall upon meeting her had confused and stunned everyone who witnessed it. The taciturn chieftain had endured days of poetry, bouquets of rare flowers and herbs, and exotic gifts before she had completely lost her temper. She had ranted and raved in front of a meeting of all the chieftains of all the clans of the Spine. Then she’s grabbed Damocles by the front of his tunic and kissed him.

“Poor Damocles,” Fay said with a grin. “He never had a chance.”

“No, he didn’t,” Hermione agreed as they left the salle. “McGonagall women play to win.”

“Does His Highness know that?” Fay asked.

“If he’s smart, he remembers,” Hermione replied.

 


	8. A Summons and a Request

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The House of Ross and the House of Urquart have sent messengers to Catspaw. Will the McGonagall be able to keep her promise to her daughter?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Auntie_L is a truly lovely person-- even if she does try to encourage my tendency to toss a whole lot of wizards at Hermione. Who are we kidding? I was going to toss those wizards at Hermione anyway.

**Chapter Eight: A Summons and a Request**

 

When the runner for Ross and the runner for Urquart finally made their way into the courtyard at Catspaw, they were greeted by Oliver Wood, who was sitting in a chair that someone had dragged out to the courtyard for him. He had his feet propped up on a barrel and was trimming his nails with a wicked-looking blade. He looked up at their entrance.

“Took you lot long enough,” Oliver observed mildly. “Did you come the long way ‘round then?”

As a runner for the House of Ross, Lisa Turpin had been subjected to a lot of strong emotions. While harming runners was strictly forbidden, that didn’t mean that Lisa hadn’t been yelled at or sworn at in the discharge of her duties. Oliver Wood, by contrast, was almost amusing. She bit back a smile at his overt posturing. 

“We come with a message for Lady Hermione, the Young McGonagall of Catspaw,” announced her fellow runner who had chosen to wear the livery for the House of Urquart, despite Lisa’s subtle urging that it might not be well-received on McGonagall lands. That one seemed bound and determined to shoot himself in the foot, and Lisa had given up trying to help him. 

“Two messengers for one message?” Oliver sat up and took his feet off the barrel. “That sounds wasteful.”

“Is Lady Hermione available?” The Urquart messenger demanded.

“Not at the moment, no,” Oliver said firmly. “She’ll be back in a few hours. Can Catspaw offer you hospitality?”

“That would be lovely.” Lisa spoke up for the first time, hoping to preempt something even worse out of the Urquart runner’s mouth. She smiled at Oliver. “Would you show us to the Great Hall?”

“Of course,” Oliver smiled back at the messenger. “Tea? Cider? Beer?”

“I’ve heard great things about the McGonagall brewster,” Lisa replied. “A beer would be perfect.”

“You’re in for a treat,” Oliver told her. “Shall we?”

When Lisa entered the Great Hall, it was packed with McGonagalls with a few Dunbars tucked in here and there. The McGonagall Herself was seated in her chair speaking earnestly to a blond-haired man who wore Healer’s robes. Lisa turned back to Oliver who waved a hand in the McGonagall’s direction.

“I’ll just go get you that beer,” Oliver said cheerfully.

Reluctantly, Lisa followed the Urquart messenger–Smith something–to the McGonagall. As they drew near, Lisa automatically dropped a knee to Lady Minerva of Catspaw. She was a well-respected chieftain who wielded a lot of clout within the Spine. Lady Minerva nodded politely at Lisa, her shrewd eyes flicking over her before moving on to the runner at her side.

“Clan McGonagall welcomes a representative of the House of Ross with open arms,” Lady Minerva said with stiff formality. She stood up and held open her arms. “It has been several years since I have seen you, kinswoman.”

“And I you, kinswoman,” Lisa replied. She stepped forward and briefly embraced the Lady Minerva.

“I hope you will forgive my heir if she is not able to embrace you,” Lady Minerva explained quietly. “Her Gift is still too new to risk her.”

“Of course, Lady Minerva,” Lisa replied. “That’s completely understandable.”

“Thank you, Miss Turpin,” Lady Minerva said with a solemn nod. “What news have you brought to Catspaw? Is the Lady Elinor well?”

“The Lady Elinor said to tell you that she feels better than she has in ten years,” Lisa reported dutifully. She pulled open her runner’s pouch and pulled out the sealed message for Lady Minerva. “She also sent me this for you specifically, Lady Minerva.”

“Thank you, Miss Turpin,” Lady Minerva murmured.

Then the Lady Minerva turned her attention to the runner for Urquart and quirked one brow.

“Well, Mr. Smith?” Lady Minerva asked in a cool voice. “Do you have anything to add?”

“My message is for Lady Hermione McGonagall of Catspaw,” the Urquart runner countered haughtily.

At that, Lisa rolled her eyes, and took a step to the side. A couple of McGonagalls made room for her on a bench, and she slid in between them. Oliver appeared, as if by magic, and set down a mug of beer with a grin and a wink.

“And as Oliver has already told you, Lady Hermione is not here at the moment,” Lady Minerva retorted, her voice growing even colder.

“It is my duty–,” the runner began hotly, only for Lady Minerva to stand up.

The entire hall went completely silent, and the runner was apparently just smart enough to shut his mouth. Lady Minerva’s mouth turned down, and she glared intently at the representative of Urquart.

“Sit down and be quiet,” Lady Minerva snapped. “We are not completely ignorant of Malcolm Urquart’s machinations. If Malcolm was stupid enough to give you ridiculously involved instructions, that is his fault, not mine.”

With a sour expression, the Urquart runner made his way to the sole empty bench in the entirety of the great hall. A disgruntled-looking McGonagall set down a mug of tea and a bowl of soup in front of him before turning and stalking enough. Normally it was a duty and a pleasure to offer hospitality, but there were times that it was begrudgingly given.

In this particular instance, Lisa could not find it in herself to judge the McGonagalls poorly. If she was ever the recipient of a message delivered by that Smith fellow, she’d probably do much to avoid hosting him for any length of time.

Just as Lisa had finished her mug of beer, the Young McGonagall entered the Great Hall. Fay Dunbar followed just behind her lady, and if the Ross’ rumour mill was any good at all, the man walking next to the Young McGonagall was the Crown Prince of all Albion, Harry Potter.

“Mum? The MacGregors said that the runners had passed them already,” Lady Hermione said as walked toward the McGonagall. She paused and smiled at Lisa.

“Miss Turpin. What a pleasure to see you again,” Lady Hermione greeted her warmly. She turned to Fay and waved a hand at Lisa. “You remember Miss Turpin, don’t you Fay? She took classes with us at Ross.”

“I do, Lady Hermione,” Fay agreed. She nodded to Lisa. “It is indeed a pleasure to see you again, Miss Turpin.”

“I have a message for you from Lady Elinor,” Lisa murmured. She reached for her runner’s pouch and pulled out the sealed letter for Lady Hermione.

“Thank you,” Lady Hermione murmured. She glanced from the letter to her mother. “Do you need to wait for an answer?”

“My lady Elinor would appreciate an answer,” Lisa agreed.

“Then let’s see what she had to say,” Lady Hermione murmured.

“Wait!” The runner from Urquart jumped up from his bench and hurried toward them.

In an obviously threatening move, the Crown Prince stepped in front of Hermione and glared at that Smith fellow hard enough to make the man pale and take a step back. A quick glance around the room told Lisa that most of the McGonagalls were watching the Crown Prince with a mixture of amusement, pride, and approval.

“You will watch yourself around my lady,” The Crown Prince growled at the Urquart runner. Then he turned to Lady Hermione and put his hand at the small of her back in an overtly possessive display. “Perhaps you should sit down and rest?”

To Lisa’s amazement, Lady Hermione allowed herself to be manhandled into the seat next to her mother, and arranged to the Crown Prince’s satisfaction. Oliver stepped forward with a steaming mug of tea that Lady Hermione accepted with a murmured thanks. Fay dragged out an extra chair so that the Crown Prince could sit next to Lady Hermione.

“Now,” Hermione said after glancing at her mother once again. “What message does the House of Urquart bear for the Young McGonagall of Catspaw?”

“Lord Malcolm of the House of Urquart of Blackstone commands the presence of his granddaughter and heir, Lady Hermione of Catspaw,” the Urquart runner began in the same pompous voice that had grated on Lisa’s nerves since they had met along the trail.

“I see.” Lady Hermione sat back in her chair and glared at the Urquart runner. Her lips pressed in a tight line and she appeared to be visibly attempting to calm herself.

Next to Lady Hermione, the McGonagall Herself broke the seal on the letter that Lisa had given her. After a glance at her mother, Lady Hermione opened her own letter. Both women read silently for a moment. The Urquart runner shifted impatiently in front of them.

“It appears as though the House of Ross has _requested_ my appearance,” Lady Hermione stated calmly. She tilted her head and stared at the Urquart runner. “As you know, the House of Ross has precedence over the House of Urquart. You may inform Lord Malcolm that I will be presenting myself to Lady Elinor.”

“But–,” the Urquart runner sputtered helplessly.

“Please tender my regret to Lord Malcolm,” Lady Hermione added. She paused. “Would you like the kitchen to make you a travel pack?”

“That would be–,” the Urquart runner began, nodding. Oliver dumped a large sack in his arms.

“Here you go,” Oliver said with a wide smile.

While Lisa was just as amused as the McGonagalls sitting around her, she filed away the information to report to Lady Elinor. Apparently, the House of Urquart had managed to piss off the entire clan of McGonagall. As far as she could tell, the McGonagall Herself and the Young McGonagall were united in their displeasure. Judging by the dark look in the Crown Prince’s eyes, he was not too pleased with Urquart either.

Carefully, Lisa cleared her throat. Both of the ladies McGonagall turned to look at her.

“Miss Turpin?” The McGonagall tilted her head and waited patiently.

“I should probably head out as well,” Lisa explained. “I’m sure the Lady Elinor will want to make sure that everything is ready.”

“Tell her not to worry on our account, Miss Turpin,” The Young McGonagall protested.

“Begging your pardon, Lady Hermione, but I imagine His Highness has every intention of joining you,” Lisa reminded her.

There was no mistaking the possessive, proprietary air that surrounded the Crown Prince’s interactions with the Lady Hermione. Prince Harry had always been protective of his betrothed, but there was more of an edge to it now. Perhaps it was because he wasn’t her betrothed anymore, or it might be because they’d been separated for so long. It wasn’t Lisa’s place to say, but it was her place to observe and report to Lady Elinor.

“That I do,” Prince Harry confirmed with a nod to Lisa.

“Then Lady Elinor will make certain that the royal apartment is aired out and ready for Your Highness,” Lisa replied. “I had better hurry so that she has a chance to prepare.”

“Thank you, Miss Turpin,” The McGonagall said with a tight, strained smile. “If you go see Hamish in the stables, he’ll give you our swiftest horse to speed your way.”

“Thank you, Lady Minerva.” Lisa bowed with her hand to her chest. She turned to Lady Hermione and performed the same bow, and then performed the deeper bow for royalty. “Lady Hermione. Your Highness.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The seat for the House of Ross was located in the foothills of the Spine above the plain that eventually led to the Palace of Albion. As one of the oldest aristocratic Houses of Albion, sections of their stronghold dated all the way back to Godric himself. They’d already passed several pairs of sentries as they traveled along the only road that went from the Spine to Castle Ross.

“We do realize that we could have been there by now if we’d taken my glider,” Harry protested.

“I do understand that, my prince,” Hermione said as she nudged her pony along the trail. “I also understand that the Lord Malcolm is trying to maneuver Lady Elinor as much as he’s trying to maneuver us. By going to the House of Ross first, we are acknowledging her precedence over him. By not using the glider, we are giving her a chance to prepare to have a member of the royal household as a guest in her home.”

“I would bet that Lord Malcolm has sent notifications to the Palace, hoping to use you as leverage with Hermione,” Lady Minerva added.

“How can he think that I would do _anything_ that would upset my lady?” Harry demanded incredulously.

“You didn’t know about the House of Urquart suing to claim me as an heir,” Hermione reminded him. “If the House of Urquart had come to you, told you that they were going to reinstate me, and asked to renew the betrothal contract, what would your response have been?”

“I would have begged my father to agree,” Harry admitted.

“And if he had been reluctant?” Hermione asked pointedly.

Harry scowled at her. “It would not have gone well.”

Behind them, Draco snorted.

“My prince has become the master of the understatement,” Hermione teased him.

“So Urquart might attempt to manipulate the Crown,” Harry said aloud. He shook his head. “I almost wish he were that stupid. His Majesty would take him apart.”

Slowly, their party made its way down the path and up to the gates of Castle Ross. Lady Minerva rode at the head of the party with Hermione at her side, and Harry protecting his lady’s flank. After being in the Spine for months, he felt exposed being in such an open position. He could tell that the McGonagalls surrounding him had similar misgivings. Fay and Oliver were scanning the area around them constantly.

A dour-looking man dressed in the colors of the House of Ross was waiting impatiently for them. Lady Minerva smiled winningly at him, and he helped her down from her horse. Once she was on the ground, she hugged the dour man and patted him on the shoulder.

“Ferquhard,” Lady Minerva greeted him warmly. “How are you?”

“Lord Malcolm is irritating my lady,” Ferquhard replied with a scowl.

“He’s not here, is he?” Hermione asked with a worried frown.

“No,” Ferquhard growled. “But his messenger birds and his runners arrive almost daily.”

“Let us go see Lady Elinor immediately,” Lady Minerva stated with a glance at the rest of them.

The rest of the party dismounted, and led their mounts into the outer bailey where they were greeted by the stable master. Hermione handed off her pony and hurried to join her mother. Harry was a constant presence behind her. She could feel him even when he was standing behind her. Healer Malfoy said that it was probably due to the strong emotional connection between Hermione and Harry. That theory seemed to hold true because she could also sense her mum and Fay whenever they were near.

When they entered the Great Hall of Castle Ross, Lady Elinor was sitting in her chair in front of the fire. At 104, she was one of the oldest living Gifted in Albion, but the House of Ross had always been long-lived. Her snow-white hair was pinned up in an elegant bun, and her back was ramrod straight. She watched them approach with eyes that were still clear and sharp.

“Your Highness,” Lady Elinor greeted Harry first. She used her cane to rise to her feet, and then she managed a graceful curtsey. It might not have been as low as etiquette dictated, but no one was going to mention it.

“Lady Elinor,” Harry replied and he bowed deeply. “It is a pleasure to see you looking so well.”

“I have to look well,” Lady Elinor scoffed. “If I don’t show up to Crown Council sessions in the pink of health, those idiots begin to gossip about me.”

“Don’t you have your Heiress sit in on your Council sessions, Lady Elinor?” Hermione asked in confusion.

Lady Elinor grimaced and shook her head. “Absolutely not. Ginevra was not a good choice, but we were pressured into choosing her. Now that you’ve Manifested, we would like to revert the House succession, if you’re agreeable.”

“Of course, Lady Elinor,” Hermione said solemnly. She glanced at her mother and then turned back to Lady Elinor. “Unless Mum is willing to accept the title.”

“I say what I said 20 years ago,” The McGonagall grumbled. “I have enough on my hands keeping track of the McGonagalls. If I took the heirship for Ross, I wouldn’t be able to spend any time in the Spine.”

“And I agreed with you then, granddaughter,” Lady Elinor said tartly. She tilted her head at Hermione and a sly smile graced her lips. “Should I have opened the Consort’s rooms as well?”

“His Highness has been perfectly behaved at all times.” Hermione sputtered.

Lady Elinor sighed heavily. “Pity.”

“ _Grandmother_!”

“What?” Lady Elinor blinked at all of them with an expression of innocence. She waved a hand in Harry’s direction. “His Highness is a pretty man. Can’t I wish that my great-granddaughter should be as happy as I was with my Dougal?”

“Ferquhard mentioned that Lord Malcolm is badgering you,” Lady Minerva pressed on, ignoring her grandmother’s teasing.

“That man!” Lady Elinor huffed and sat back in her chair. “He is driving me mad. I am so close to just sending some of our girls over to the Urquart lands to make him rethink his life choices.”

“What is Lord Malcolm doing?” Lady Minerva asked.

“He is trying to get me to agree to a joint heirship similar to the one we shared previously,” Lady Elinor explained. “However, he had the Crown Council ratify Lavender Brown as his choice. He would have to prove cause to disinherit her, and I don’t think that he’ll find that as easy to do as he seems to think it will be. Lady Lavender is charming to everyone at court, and she has asked prudent, thoughtful questions in Council sessions.”

“That is what we had heard as well,” Her mum said thoughtfully. She glanced Hermione’s way.

“She was flighty as a girl,” Hermione admitted. She chewed on her lower lip for a moment. “But that was easily 15 years ago. I’m not surprised that she’s matured, and that she has grown into her role as the Heiress of Urquart. I don’t see a reason for the Crown to agree to Lord Malcolm’s demands.”

“Unless you’re right,” Harry added with a frown. “If Lord Malcolm presented this in the right way… His Majesty might think that by reinstating Hermione, he would be helping her, and that by helping her he would be making me happy.”

“King James had a tremendous amount of guilt wrapped up in your disinheritance, Hermione,” Lady Elinor agreed. She sighed and shook her head. “As you already know, the House of Ross is not similarly served by our own Heiress. I would like to formally apologize, Your Highness, for Ginevra’s behaviour at the rededication of Slytherin Tower.”

“I’ve threatened the chit with banishment, Lady Elinor,” Harry admitted. He smirked at her. “I imagine that that would make it difficult to fulfill her duties.”

“Oh, _you_ I like,” Lady Elinor declared with open delight. She turned to Hermione and grinned. “He reminds me of his great-grandfather, King Cadmus III. Now _he_ was a king.”

“How do we settle the House of Ross?” Hermione asked.

“That’s simple enough,” Lady Elinor said. She glanced at Lady Minerva and then focused back on Hermione. “Both you and Ginevra were provisional Heiresses only. To make you the official chosen Heiress for the House of Ross, you have to touch the Heart of Ross, and it has to accept you as its bearer.”

“What is the Heart of Ross?” Harry asked with a frown.

“It’s the largest matrix jewel ever discovered in Albion,” Lady Minerva explained. “It is blood-red, which isn’t one of the colors that resonates with Gifts for Tower work.”

“Family legend says that the Castle was breached in the wars before Albion, and Eamhair Ross died trying to protect her young children–giving them time to flee and hide in the secret rooms hidden in the Castle,” Lady Elinor added. “When they found her, the stone had turned red with her blood. No matter what they did, the stone remained red. A number of people handled it, including both of Eamhair’s children. When her daughter, Morag, touched it the heart glowed brightly.”

“Does anyone know why it glowed?” Hermione asked curiously.

Lady Elinor shook her head. “There are theories that countless Ladies of Ross recorded, but none that has ever been proven one way or the other. All I know is that it has chosen our official Heirs for over a thousand years.”

“That’s a lot of faith for a glorified matrix jewel,” Hermione huffed indignantly.

“The heart has always chosen well for our House,” Lady Elinor retorted. She glanced behind them and nodded.

A young woman dressed like one of Lady Elinor’s guards carried a small silver chest that was so old most of its carvings had been rubbed down to almost nothing. She set the box on a little table next to Lady Elinor and lifted the lid. Elinor picked up the glittering red heart and held in the palm of her hand.

“It’s not glowing,” Hermione pointed out with a frown.

“And yet when I was fifteen, it glowed brilliantly for me,” Lady Elinor said with a slight smile. “It was witnessed by the entire House of Ross and recorded in our chronicles. The day after my mother died, when I was proclaimed the Lady of the House of Ross, I picked it up, but it had stopped glowing for me.”

“Do we need the House of Ross, then?” Hermione asked with a worried frown.

Lady Elinor grimaced. “I am afraid so. They will want to witness that you are able to make the Heart glow, and that Ginevra is not.”

“Bloody hell,” Harry muttered next to her.

Hermione couldn’t help but agree with him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	9. The Heart of Ross

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The House of Ross has specific protocols for choosing its Heir. Can Hermione McGonagall touch the Heart of Ross?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It always helps to have another pair of eyes keep track of everyone's limbs and whether or not people are sitting, standing, or in another room. Thank you, Auntie_L, for making sure I don't give anyone extra arms or make them walk through doors they haven't opened.

**Chapter Nine: The Heart of Ross**

 

The royal apartments at Castle Ross were left over from a much earlier time period, but the Ladies of Ross had kept them on anyway. Hermione wandered through them curiously until she found Harry in one of the sitting rooms. He was sitting on a delicately carved couch with a pile of communications sitting on a small table next to the couch. A slight frown made his forehead crease and Hermione felt the urge to kiss those creases away. He glanced up and smiled at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling in pleasure.

“I am happy to let you kiss whatever you’d like, my lady,” he told her. Hermione huffed at him.

“I am working on my shields and projecting,” she said and crossed her arms over her chest with a scowl. “Draco says that half the time I project all over the place and the other half I’m locked up like the Palace treasury.”

“It will get better,” Harry said soothingly. He patted the couch next to him in invitation. “I’ve got a letter from my mum.”

“How is the Queen-Consort?” Hermione asked. Worry snaked through her belly and she shifted on her feet in front of the couch. “She knows, doesn’t she?”

“I wrote to my parents as soon as we arrived here,” Harry explained. He tugged Hermione down onto the couch next to him. “Mum’s mad that I left Neville behind at Slytherin Tower, but she understood the necessity. Expect him to show up in the next day or so. He can room in here with me, if that’s alright with Lady Elinor.”

“I think she’ll appreciate that as we expect Castle Ross to fill up rather quickly,” Hermione agreed. She bit her lower lip and Harry rubbed his thumb over her lip, tugging it free of her teeth.

“What is it?” Harry asked. Hermione tilted her head at him.

“Can’t you tell?” She asked. Harry smiled at her.

“It’s considered rude to rummage about in someone’s head, and at the moment you aren’t projecting,” Harry explained gently. “Now, tell me what’s bothering you.”

“Lady Elinor suggested that it might be better if I took the Consort’s suite. Apparently every Ross by blood or marriage is planning on descending on us in the next day or so,” Hermione admitted with a worried frown.

“And you don’t want to?” Harry asked quietly. He set down the letter from his mother and turned on the couch so that he was facing Hermione. He cupped her face in his hands and tilted her chin up so that she was looking him in the eye. “Sweetheart, what’s going on in that head of yours?”

“His majesty hasn’t yet given his permission,” Hermione muttered. She closed her eyes for a moment and then stared up at him. “The Crown Council could lodge a formal protest, and you might be–”

“Hey, no,” Harry interrupted her. “This? This isn’t going anywhere. My dad loved you to bits. He is going to give his permission before I even formally ask for it. The Crown Council can go hang for all I care.”

“Harry!” Completely scandalized, Hermione gaped at him. He laughed and kissed her on the nose.

“I love your brilliant mind, you know that, right?” Harry asked as he wrapped his arms around her and tugged her into his lap.

“Why do I feel as though there’s a caveat to that statement?” Hermione countered with a frown. Harry rested his forehead against her shoulder and laughed.

“By Godric, I’ve missed you,” he sighed. He lifted his head and smiled at her. “You are so clever and so intelligent that it’s stunning on a daily basis. The only problem is that you tend to over-analyse everything until you’ve argued yourself into a logical corner.”

“So what you’re saying is that I should just move into the Consort suites and not whine about it?” Hermione guessed.

“I wouldn’t complain if you were close to hand,” Harry replied calmly. One hand was slowly drawing lazy circles on her back, and Hermione tried to ignore it and concentrate on what he was saying.

“So that you can protect me, or so that you can sneak into my bed in the middle of the night?” Hermione asked.

“You could sneak into my bed,” Harry offered with a cheeky grin.

Carefully, Hermione leaned forward to kiss Harry, but his arms tightened around her and met her lips with his. Every kiss seemed to have an edge to it. There was a sharp burn when Harry’s teeth dug into her skin and his tongue drove her mad. He shivered when she returned the favour, growling against her collarbone, and she could feel heat pool in her belly. Harry shifted her so that Hermione was straddling him on the tiny couch.

“Are you sure this is safe?” Hermione asked anxiously. “This couch doesn’t appear to be all that sturdy.”

“What do you think is going to happen on this couch?” Harry asked with a raised eyebrow. Hermione flushed and sat back in his lap.

“Orgasms, hopefully,” Hermione admitted. “I wasn’t too clear about the details, but we have options.”

“We do have options,” Harry agreed. He cupped her arse and pulled her tight against him. “There are a few options that I’ve thought about a lot lately, but most of them would work best in a bed. Or at least in a handy linen closet.”

“Like what?” Hermione asked curiously.

“I haven’t tasted you in a very, very long time,” Harry breathed against her lips.

A needy whimper escaped Hermione and she automatically ground down on the bulge pressing against her. Harry groaned against the column of her throat and nipped the smooth expanse of skin, biting down lightly before he let go. When he rose up off the couch, Hermione automatically wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He carried her into his bedroom and stopped by the bed, letting her slide down his front until her feet touched the ground.

“Show off,” she teased.

“Sweetheart, I haven’t even started,” Harry countered. He tugged at her leather jerkin, unbuttoning it quickly. “You had sword practice this morning?”

“The swordsmistress at Ross thinks that only the lazy and indigent sleep past dawn,” Hermione said drily. “She insisted that Fay and I both prove that we hadn’t gone soft in our old age.”

Harry snorted and let his hands slide over the solid muscle of Hermione’s sides.

“I don’t think anyone who lives in the Spine can afford to go soft,” he muttered.

“That’s true enough,” Hermione agreed. Harry’s fingers continued to explore the exposed skin.

“You’ve changed,” he said slowly. His gaze followed his fingers and he frowned. “I’ve missed so much.”

“We both have, Harry,” Hermione soothed him. She leaned up to kiss his jaw. “We’ll have to let it go, or we’re going to end up dwelling on that and ignoring everything else.”

She wiggled out of the rest of the clothes and stood in front of Harry, completely naked.

“Get in the bed, Hermione,” Harry groaned. She giggled and crawled into the bed. She turned and looked at him expectantly. A strange emotion shifted over Harry’s face. “You have no idea how much I dreamed of you looking just like that.”

“I thought about you, too,” Hermione confessed. She looked him over thoughtfully. “But usually you had less clothing on.”

“As my lady wills,” Harry muttered and then he began to strip off his clothes. He stopped when Hermione’s pupils widened leaving only a thin circle of brown iris behind. “Hermione?”

A handful of moments ago, Hermione had told Harry to let go of the years that they’d spent apart, but that was before she had seen him naked. Harry had always been fit, and she had appreciated that as a teenager, but this was not a fit teenager. This was a man with well-developed muscles and broad shoulders. Her eyes danced over the scars that littered his body. She would come back to those later. At that moment, she was far more interested in other parts of him.

“Come here,” she demanded hoarsely.

When Harry joined her, there was a tangle of limbs and they ended up falling backward in the bed together. They both tried to move at the same time, and Hermione accidentally elbowed Harry in the side. Then Hermione started laughing, because it was the sort of ridiculous thing that was bound to happen.

In retaliation, Harry kissed along her collarbone, and her laughter shifted into breathy moans. She buried her fingers in his hair, tugging when he nipped at her skin. When it came to sex, Harry was always hyper-focused on whatever task he’d assigned himself. Hermione bit her lip to keep from laughing as he contemplated her nipples.

“What are you doing?” She asked. Harry looked at her over the curve of her breasts.

“Trying to figure out which breast I should adore first,” he told her as though it was the most logical thing in the world.

“You could flip a coin,” Hermione suggested.

Instead Harry chose a nipple and wrapped his lips around it. With his teeth and lips and tongue, he had Hermione writhing against his mouth and begging him not to stop. He grinned against her skin as he made his way over to her other breast. As he paid attention to the neglected breast, Hermione could feel his fingers skim along the skin of her belly and slip between her thighs. She squirmed as his fingers slid through her folds easily.

“Bloody hell, sweetheart,” Harry groaned. “You’re so wet.”

“What can I say?” Hermione gasped as one callused finger circled her clitoris. “You’re a prince of many talents.”

“Flatterer,” Harry chuckled. He brought his hand up to his mouth and sucked on his fingers. Hermione whimpered and shifted against him. “Now, where was I?”

Heaving himself up, Harry moved so that he was between Hermione’s thighs. He slid down in the bed until he could shift her legs over his shoulders. Memories of Harry doing exactly this on lazy days when they were allowed to sleep in swamped her all at once. The sure confidence of Harry’s touch made her heart squeeze in her chest. Hermione stopped breathing when he licked a slow stripe up the centre of her, and then choked on air when he slid a finger inside her. Harry pulled back to look up at her with a worried frown.

“It’s fine,” she rushed to assure him. “I’m fine. It’s just… I used to love when you did this.”

“I remember,” Harry murmured before turning his attention back to more important things.

That burn was back and it was everywhere that Harry touched her. Her skin felt as though it were too-tight and the core of her felt as though it were on fire. Harry pulled back again, but this time it was so that little puffs of air could skate over her skin. She shivered against him and Harry buried his head between her thighs.

“Harry,” Hermione panted. She slid her fingers into his hair again, clutching at him to ground herself.

Carefully, Harry added another finger, slowly pumping them in an out of her as he continued to suck her clitoris. Hermione shuddered against his mouth and he redoubled his efforts, picking up speed and curling his fingers and rubbing against the one spot that never failed to make her see stars. Her thighs began to shake and Hermione sobbed as Harry sped up his tongue. Pressure continued to build until pleasure skated along the edge of pain, and Hermione screamed when her vision whited out.

The worst part about coming to was always the smug smile on Harry’s face. Despite all of the other changes that had occurred, that fact that Harry’s inappropriate pride in his prowess had not altered at all made Hermione tear up. Immediately the smugness was gone, and Harry stared at her with wide, horror-stricken eyes.

“Sweetheart, what is it?” He demanded. “Are you all right? Did I do something?”

“What happened to the bed curtains?” Hermione countered, staring at the empty canopy frame of the bed with a suspicious frown.

“Erm, well, you see.” Harry cleared his throat. “They sort of… smoldered a little.”

“They caught fire?” Hermione moaned and slumped in the bed.

“No!” Harry brought his hands up and cupped Hermione’s bare shoulders. “They didn’t catch fire. They just smoldered a bit. That’s all, I swear.”

“That’s good, right?” Hermione asked worriedly.

“It’s difficult to gauge your progress compared to any other newly Gifted, but… yes,” Harry agreed.

“So maybe it would be okay if I did crawl in your bed,” Hermione mused aloud.

“It is _always_ okay if you crawl in my bed, Hermione,” Harry promised her. She smacked him lightly on the chest and rolled her eyes at him.

“No, I meant that I wouldn’t accidentally burn down Castle Ross and have to explain _why_ or _how_ to my Mum or Lady Elinor,” Hermione countered. Harry grimaced at that.

“Okay, yeah,” he agreed. “Let’s definitely avoid that.”

“I should go get changed,” Hermione sighed and shifted away from him. “Lady Elinor says tonight’s the night.”

“Good Godric,” Harry groaned and rested his forehead against Hermione’s shoulder. “Is that woman in the Castle?”

“She should be soon,” Hermione grumbled. “So I need to go.”

“Banishment is looking better and better,” Harry said darkly.

With a giggle and a kiss pressed to his cheek, Hermione slid out of his bed and wriggled back into her clothes. She paused and looked over her shoulder at him.

“I’ll let Fay and Mum know,” Hermione said. She paused and bit her lip. “About moving into the Consort suites, I mean. Unless you’ve changed your mind.”

“Never,” Harry declared. “Would you like me to inform Lady Elinor, or would your mum rather handle that?”

“I’ll ask mum,” Hermione decided. She looked at him one last time, spread out in his bed with one arm behind his head. The sheet had slipped down dangerously low, and Hermione forced herself to take a deep breath, turn around, and leave the room.

 _Godric_ , but she loathed Ginevra Weasley.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The ballroom was one of the largest rooms at Castle Ross, and it was filled to capacity. Hermione recognized quite a few of the people milling about the room. Quite a few of them were women that she had taken sword practice with as a child. Others she knew from her position as the Young McGonagall of Catspaw, which took her throughout the Spine on a regular basis.

“Young McGonagall, it’s good to see you looking so well,” Septima Vector greeted her warmly.

“ _Donata_ Vector,” Hermione replied. “I’m surprised to see you so far from Ravenclaw.”

“Ah, but I’m here for more than one reason, Lady Hermione,” _Donata_ Vector teased her. “As a member of the House of Ross, I’m here to witness the choosing of our heir. As Tower technician, I’m here to convince you to come to Ravenclaw Tower for your training.” 

“You leave the lass alone for now, Septima,” Her mum protested. “She’s nervous enough without worrying about which Tower she’ll attend for training.”

“You just want her to go to Gryffindor,” _Donata_ Vector accused the McGonagall. Her easy smile took out the sting of the accusation, but Lady Minerva shrugged.

“Of course,” Lady Minerva agreed. “We’ll see you later, _Donata_ Vector.”

“I look forward to it.” The _Donata_ smiled at the both of them before moving on.

“Come along,” Mum muttered under her breath. “Lady Elinor says that it’s time.”

Standing on a large dais at one of the end of the room were a pair of Ross guardswomen, the silver chest on a table between them. Seated next to the chest was Lady Elinor. With a glance at her mother, and a sigh, Hermione headed toward the dais.

A commotion from the other end drew everyone’s attention, and Hermione was not surprised at all to see a flushed, angry Ginevra stomping across the room to the dais. The redhead was wearing an unfortunate gown that did nothing to flatter her colouring or her figure. There were far too many flounces for practicality’s sake, and all Hermione could think about was how difficult it would be to fight in that dress.

Lady Minerva had insisted that Hermione wear a deep blue gown that she’d worn to the last Gathering in the Spine. The McGonagall tartan was draped over her shoulder and pinned at her waist.

“They need to remember that ye’re a McGonagall as much as ye’re a Ross,” Mum had grumbled when Hermione had asked.

Hermione suspected that the fact that this dress had pockets had gone a long way to deciding her mum. She had sheathed daggers strapped to her thighs that she could pull out through her pockets if she needed to do so. Not that she expected to need to use her daggers at Castle Ross, but it never hurt to stay alert.

“This is ridiculous,” Ginevra Weasley shrieked at Lady Elinor.

Slowly, Hermione dared to look at her mother, who was glaring furiously at Ginevra Weasley. Then Fay poked her in the arm and focused her attention back on the drama unfolding on the dais. Ginevra had marched up to the steps of the dais. With frown, Hermione turned to nod to her mother and then headed toward the dais, Fay trailing in her wake.

“It is hardly ridiculous, Ginevra,” Lady Elinor announced in ringing tones that drifted to every corner of the ballroom. “For centuries it has been the tradition of the House of Ross that their Heirs must touch the Heart of Ross.”

“I have been named as the Heiress of Ross. I have! There was a formal proclamation in the Crown Council and everything. I have a copy here!” Ginevra all but wailed. Lady Elinor’s lips tightened in distaste.

“If you examine that document, I believe you will notice that you were listed as a _provisional_ heir,” Lady Elinor announced. She paused and looked down her nose at Ginevra. “Without touching the Heart of Ross, you can never be its true heir.”

“Fine!” Ginevra snapped. She put her hands on her hips and glared at Lady Elinor. “Where is the Heart of Ross?”

“You will watch your mouth when you speak to the Lady Elinor,” Hermione growled as she finally reached the dais. “Or the question of whether or not your heirship is provisional will become moot.”

“NO!” Ginevra protested and pointed a figure at Hermione. “She isn’t the heir any longer! You disinherited her!”

“Not exactly,” Lady Elinor countered Ginevra coolly. “We dissolved the provisional heirship. If Lady Hermione is able to touch the Heart of Ross, then she won’t be the provisional heir, she’ll be our chosen heir witnessed by the assembled House of Ross.”

“That’s not fair,” Ginevra tried again.

“It’s perfectly fair,” Hermione stated calmly. “Only the true heir can touch the Heart. We could have everyone in this room try to touch the Heart, but it will only respond to one of us.” Ginevra turned to Hermione with a fulminating glare. “What’s the matter, Ginevra? Are you scared?”

“Of course not,” Ginevra scoffed.

“Then let’s see who touches the Heart,” Lady Elinor announced to the crowd.

With an arrogant toss of her head, Ginevra took the steps up the dais and stood there, looking at Lady Elinor expectantly. Then Lady Elinor turned to the two guardswomen and inclined her head. The swordswomen lifted the lid and took out the Heart of Ross. For a long moment, Ginevra stared at the Heart in surprise. Then she cautiously reached out for it and picked it up. The Heart lay in her hand, its facets winking under the lights from the chandeliers in the ballroom.

“What do I do?” Ginevra asked with a frown.

“Touch the Heart,” Lady Elinor replied.

“I _am_ touching the Heart!” Ginevra snapped.

“House of Ross, Ginevra Weasley has failed to touch the Heart of Ross,” Lady Elinor announced to the assembled crowd. “Do you bear witness?”

“Aye,” the assembly called back.

Cheeks flushed with rage, Ginevra turned to Hermione and threw the Heart at her. Reflexively, Hermione’s hand shot up in front of her and she caught the Heart in her bare hand. The facets dug into her skin, and the Heart lit up as though it burned with an inner fire. The Lady Elinor moved to stand by her side, and pushed Hermione’s hand high in the air.

“House of Ross, Lady Hermione McGonagall of Catspaw has succeeded in touching the Heart of Ross,” Lady Elinor called out. Hermione stared at her great-grandmother in shock as tears gathered in the corner of Lady Elinor’s eyes. “Do you bear witness?”

“AYE!” This time the response was louder and there were a few scattered cheers.

“The Heart has chosen,” Lady Elinor said in a firm voice.

“The Heart has chosen!” The assembled audience repeated.

The guardswomen moved forward to collect the Heart and return it to its cask. Hermione watched as a guardsman grabbed Ginevra by the arm and escorted her from the ballroom. She turned to look at Lady Elinor.

“What’s going to happen to her?” Hermione asked curiously.

“She can enjoy Ross hospitality under the watch of our guards, and she can head home tomorrow,” Lady Elinor replied with frown. “She won’t be welcome back to Castle Ross–not after that behavior.”

“It’s a good thing that only members of the House of Ross are allowed to witness the choosing of a new heir,” Hermione said. “If His Highness had witnessed half of Ginevra’s behaviour–he would have had a fit to rival hers, only his would have involved a lot more bloodshed.”

“That might have been amusing,” Lady Elinor sighed. “There is so little that amuses me anymore.”

“That would have given the Weasley family the opportunity to argue that the Crown was interfering with House matters,” Lady Minerva observed.

“The Weasley family has no say in the matters of the House of Ross,” Lady Elinor countered in a chillingly cold voice. “The only reason that Ginevra was even considered is because my sister married into the Prewett family, and she happens to be my great-niece.”

“If you’ll forgive me, Lady Elinor,” Hermione murmured with a deep curtsey to her great-grandmother. “My prince is no doubt impatient to learn the news.”

“He could not have possibly missed Ginevra being dragged past him kicking and screaming,” Lady Minerva scoffed incredulously.

“Oh, Minerva,” Lady Elinor sighed. “Let the poor dear go flirt with the Crown Prince.”

“Fine,” Lady Minerva sighed. “But you both need to be seen circulating within the ballroom. There will be no sordid detours to linen closets.”

“Mother!” Hermione protested indignantly. A light blush spread over her cheeks as she remembered how she’d spent part of her morning.

“Leave the girl alone, Minerva,” Lady Elinor protested. “You were just as bad with your young lad. Your mother was forever finding you in dark corners snogging each other senseless.”

“Thank you, Lady Elinor,” Hermione murmured. She bobbed another curtsey and then took off toward the other end of the ballroom with Lady Elinor’s laughter ringing out behind her.

 

 

 

 

 


	10. Damage Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word of Hermione's Manifestation has spread and the House of Ross is forced to make moves to protect its Heiress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My laptop died. It was absolutely fine, no hiccups or indicators, and then BOOM-- "unbootable device." I'm working to see if the files can be pulled from the hard drive. This chapter happened to be saved to Google Docs-- so yay for that? 
> 
> Auntie_L is just as amazing as ever. She comforted me when I was numb and in shock about my dead laptop. I'm really hoping everything can be pulled off the hard drive because it had EVERYTHING.

**Chapter Ten: Damage Control**

 

 

Even in the early hours of morning, Albion Palace was bustling. Lily had already had three separate meetings, and needed to change after her meeting with a local school group in Godric’s Hollow. Harry’s finger painting phase had not been quite as… _exuberant_ as Rowena Ravenclaw Primary. Her secretary had managed to smuggle her a breakfast in between meeting with the St. Mungo’s Society for the Poor and the ribbon cutting for a new Guildhall. The latest letter from Harry had been concerning, and she needed to speak to James and Sirius.

“James? Do you have a moment?” Lily called as she entered her husband’s study. “James?”

Pushed up against the desk and snogging as though their lives depended on it were her two wayward husbands. One would think that passing fifty might have reined them in, but one would be deeply, deeply wrong. Lily leaned against the doorjamb and cleared her throat loudly. Both of them broke apart like guilty teenagers, and she rolled her eyes. When they caught sight of her, both men grinned.

“Lily-flower!” James called and held out a hand to her.

With a sigh, Lily pushed off the doorjamb and walked forward to take his hand.

“I only have a minute,” she warned them both. “I’m supposed to meet with the majordomo about that state dinner we’re hosting for Lyonesse next month.”

The dirty grin that Sirius flashed at her made her want to groan, but then she was too busy kissing her husband and she lost herself in the feel of his lips against hers. When Sirius finally released her, James was watching them both with dark eyes.

“No,” Lily protested. She held up her hands in front of her. “We need to talk about Hermione McGonagall.”

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Sirius hugged her exuberantly. “We’re getting our girl back!”

“What?” Lily froze in Sirius’ arms and turned to stare at James. “What did you do?”

“What do you mean, what did I do?” James demanded with a frown. “Don’t you remember the look on Hermione’s face when the House of Ross requested her presence? She knew, even then. Don’t you remember how miserable Harry was? We could barely pry him out of Hermione’s rooms for months! He moped about like a ghost.”

“James!” Lily snapped. She poked His Majesty, the King of all Albion, in the chest. “What. Did. You. Do?”

“She _Manifested_ ,” James reminded her with a frown. “She’s Gifted now. That changes everything.”

“I understand _that_ , James,” Lily growled. She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. “Tell me that you didn’t make an arrangement with the House of Urquahart.”

“Why are you saying that like it’s a bad thing?” Sirius asked curiously.

“Godric, Lord of Light, grant me the patience of Helga, Lady of Bounty,” Lily ground out between clenched teeth.

“I didn’t,” James said stiffly. “But I don’t see why it would be such a concern. Hermione was their Heiress for years.”

“Malcolm is up to something, isn’t he?” Sirius guessed with a scowl. “That man is a pustulent boil. There are days that I’d rather deal with Death Eaters than Malcolm Urquahart.”

“Sirius!” James’ voice rose in shock. “Malcolm Urquahart is a member of the Crown Council.”

“He’s still a pustulent boil,” Sirius grumbled. Lily grimaced.

“Can we please stop talking about pustulent boils? I have to talk about menus in a half hour,” she begged. She turned to James. “Please tell me that you did not enter into a contract with the House of Urquhart.”

James huffed and crossed his arms over his chest.

“No, I haven’t. You know that I would talk to you and Sirius before I signed a contract. Lily, what is this about?” James demanded.

“Oh thank Godric,” Lily sighed, slumping against James’ chest in relief.

“Lily?” Sirius frowned at her.

“Harry wrote to me again,” Lily explained. “Hermione has been chosen as the official Heiress of Ross.”

“Not the provisional heir?” Sirius asked in surprise.

Lily shook her head.

“No. He didn’t go in to details, but he was very specific about the fact that she’d been chosen as the official heir,” Lily replied.

“Bloody hell,” Sirius murmured. “Old Elinor must have had her touch the Heart of Ross.”

“You think so?” James asked.

Sirius shrugged. “That’s the only way to be chosen the official Heiress, isn’t it?”

“Bloody hell,” James sighed.

“What?” Lily demanded. “Why is that bad?”

“I may have issued a proclamation announcing the engagement of Hermione McGonagall and the Crown Prince,” James admitted. A flush crept up his neck. “Lady Elinor is going to yell in the Crown Council chamber. Again.”

“Lady _Elinor_?” Lily repeated incredulously. “Is that what you’re worried about? Did you talk to Harry? Or Hermione? Good Godric, did you even send a letter to the McGonagall?”

“Why on earth would we do that?” James asked. He waved a hand in the air. “Harry would laugh in my face if I asked if he wanted to marry Hermione. They love each other. They’ve been forced to stay apart for ten years. Now they can be together. It’s simple.”

“How can you think that?” Lily asked. “If you think Lady Elinor is going to be upset, how do you think Lady Minerva is going to react? Or Hermione? You do remember what Harry wrote to us, right? The woman you’ve basically coerced into being your daughter-in-law is a newly Gifted Pyrokinetic Prime.”

“But…” James frowned at Lily, confusion and uncertainty showing on his face. “I fixed it, Lily-flower.”

“Godric help me,” Lily groaned. She pulled James down and kissed him before she let go. “Let’s hope that the woman that can set you on fire understands that.”

“Hermione would never,” Sirius protested. “She adores us.”

“Ten years ago, Hermione adored you,” Lily pointed out. “It’s been a long time, Sirius.”

“Not that long,” Sirius countered. “She’s still Hermione.”

 

* * *

 

 

One of the best things about staying in the Consort’s suites was the door that connected them to the royal apartments. It was less embarrassing than being caught in the hallway sneaking into or out of Harry’s rooms by her mother, or worse, Lady Elinor, who would giggle at her and wave her on towards Harry’s rooms.

It was before dawn, but Fay and Daphne had headed downstairs for breakfast smirking when Hermione told them she would be down in just a minute. Hermione had taken the opportunity to wallow in the bath and just relax for the first time in what felt like ages. She dressed warmly because castles tended to be draughty, and Castle Ross was in the foothills of the Spine. Then Hermione opened the door to the royal apartments, and slipped through into Harry’s rooms.

Seated in one of the wing-back chairs by the fireplace, Neville Longbottom, the Duke of Montagu and sworn brother of the Crown Prince, was reading a newspaper that must have been teleported specially from Godric’s Hollow. He lowered his newspaper when the door clicked shut behind Hermione.

“Good morning, Lady Hermione,” Neville greeted Hermione with a knowing grin and a raised eyebrow.

“Your grace,” Hermione squeaked. “I had no idea that you had already arrived at Castle Ross.”

“Indeed?” Neville stretched and set the newspaper on a nearby table. “I rushed to join His Highness as soon as I could.”

“Harry had mentioned that,” Hermione murmured.

“Did Harry?” Neville’s smile grew. “Congratulations, by the way.”

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and huffed at him.

“Thank you.” Hermione shook her head. “It’s so difficult to process after all these years, but I wouldn’t have wished Ginevra on anyone.”

“Ginevra? Do you mean Ginevra Weasley?” Neville blinked at her in surprise. “Hermione, I can promise you that Ginevra was _never_ an option.”

“That’s what Mum said, but no one can _really_ say for certain, can they? The whole thing is a mystery, according to Lady Elinor,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “It seems unlikely, but if there had been no other choice, who is to say who the Heart would choose?”

“I can say with absolute certainty that it _never_ would have been Ginevra Weasley,” Neville countered firmly. “Harry loves you, Hermione. Even if you were never an option, there is no way that he would ever have been attracted to a woman like Ginevra.”

“What?” Hermione stared at Neville in shock. “Whoever said anything about Harry being _attracted_ to Ginevra?”

“You did,” Neville replied. He waved a hand at her. “Just now. When you were saying that Ginevra might have been an option.”

“For the Heart of Ross,” Hermione explained slowly. She frowned at Neville. “You just congratulated me on being chosen as the official Heiress of Ross, didn’t you?”

“You’re the official Heiress?” Neville said in surprise. “Not just the provisional heir? Congratulations, Hermione!”

“Thank you.” Hermione frowned in confusion. “What did you congratulate me for before?”

“ _HERMIONE_!” Harry burst into his sitting room, out of breath and completely disheveled. “I had no idea!” He burst out.

“What happened to you?” Hermione demanded.

“Your Highness, are you alright?” Neville moved forward, concern etched on his brow. Harry waved him off impatiently and focused on Hermione.

“Your mother,” Harry panted. He grimaced and touched the side of his face. “And your great-grandmother.”

“Harry Charlus James Godric Cadmus,” Hermione growled. “What in Rowena’s name did you do?”

“Nothing!” Harry threw up his hands. He grimaced. “It was my dad.”

“His Majesty or the King-Consort?” Hermione asked with a preemptive wince.

“His Majesty, King James IV issued a proclamation announcing the betrothal of his heir, the Crown Prince, and Hermione McGonagall, the Younger McGonagall of Catspaw,” Harry recited as though he were reading from some kind of official letter.

“ _What_?” Hermione’s voice rose so high that both Neville and Harry cringed.

“I didn’t know!” Harry repeated. He held out a letter. “Mum wrote me a letter and had it sent through emergency channels.”

Quickly, Hermione read the letter from Queen Lily, explaining the situation in excruciating detail. All of the blood drained out of her face and she looked up at Harry.

“I’m not ready to be the Queen of Albion,” she protested. “I’m barely ready to be the Heiress of Ross.”

“Where did it say anything about you becoming the Queen of Albion?” Harry asked with a frown.

“My great-grandmother is going to _kill_ your father,” Hermione pointed out. She paused and frowned. “If Mum doesn’t beat her to it.”

“We’re going to have to go to Albion Palace,” Harry said with a sigh.

“But what about the House of Urquahart?” Hermione reminded him.

“What about the House of Urquahart?” Neville asked curiously.

“Malcolm’s trying to force Hermione to accept the heirship again,” Harry explained with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“And we don’t want that?” Neville guessed.

“No, we don’t,” Hermione agreed. “Lavender Brown is doing quite well at being the Heiress of Urquahart. She’s spent the last ten years working her arse off on their behalf. She deserves to keep her title.”

“And the fact that it’s one less heir you need to produce is all for the better, isn’t it?” Neville teased.

“Don’t you worry your pretty head about how many heirs I need to produce,” Hermione told him lightly. “It’s none of your concern.”

“Let us get married first, at least,” Harry added.

“Don’t even joke, Your Highness,” Hermione grumbled.

Sighing, Harry pulled her against his chest and kissed the top of her head.

“As My Lady wills,” her murmured into her hair.

“When do we leave for the Palace, My Lord Prince?” Neville asked.

Harry groaned and let his forehead rest against Hermione’s for just a moment.

“First, we’ll need to convince Lady Elinor and Lady Minerva that we had no idea that my father decided to toss the Crown Council into utter disarray,” Harry explained. “Then we’ll need to see if Lady Elinor has any large gliders. I think that between the two of us, we should be able to fly one to the Palace.”

“That sounds like a logical plan,” Neville agreed with a nod. “I haven’t unpacked all of your things yet, so that’s something.”

“Are you trying to make me feel guilty for following my lady when she was in the throes of Manifestation sickness?” Harry asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Is it working?” Neville countered.

“No,” Harry said flatly. “I will never regret seeing to my lady’s safety.”

Neville sighed. “Nor should you,” he admitted. He waved a hand at them. “Go see Lady Elinor. And Harry?”

“Yes Neville?”

“Good luck.”

 

* * *

 

 

For almost an hour, Lady Minerva had paced back and forth in Lady Elinor’s study, ranting in angry Gaelic. Hermione sat patiently on a couch next to Harry, watching her mother gesticulate wildly and yell at the Crown Prince of Albion. Harry sat next to her meekly, a contrite look on his face. Eventually, he leaned toward Hermione.

“My Gaelic isn’t what it once was,” he muttered at Hermione out of the side of his mouth. “What is she saying?”

“It’s best you don’t know,” Hermione muttered back.

“Lady Minerva,” Harry tried, spreading his hands in a conciliatory manner. “I have apologized. I’ve shown you the letter from her majesty, the Queen Consort. We meant no disrespect to the clan McGonagall or to the House of Ross.”

“The Crown Council is going to rake _my_ arse over the coals, Your Highness,” Lady Elinor said coolly. “If I’m going to be taken to account by that jackass Lord Malcolm, then you had better believe that you’ll get your own accounting.”

“That’s fair,” Harry agreed. “However, Lady Elinor, Hermione and I are going to have to go to the Palace to deal with this situation now, before it escalates.”

“Before it escalates?” Lady Minerva scoffed. She threw her hands in the air and began ranting again. Both Lady Elinor and Hermione winced.

“While Mum is obviously upset, she does have a point,” Hermione said with a pointed glance at Lady Elinor. “An announcement like this? Without having the Crown Council ratify it? Either I’m pregnant, and the Crown is trying to smooth it over, or the Crown is making an overt attempt to undermine the authority of the Crown Council. You know how paranoid half of those bastards are.”

“Pregnant?” Harry’s voice rose an entire octave. He turned to Hermione with wide eyes. “You just recovered from Manifestation sickness! The last time we—”

Hermione clapped her hand over Harry’s mouth and sighed heavily.

“We need to go to the Palace to prove that I am _not_ pregnant, and that we are _not_ attempting to disband the Crown Council,” Hermione stated and scowled at everyone in the room.

“Speak for yourself,” Lady Elinor retorted. “If Malcolm pushes me, I might decide to stage my own coup of the Palace.”

“Queen Elinor of Albion?” Hermione asked with a slight smile.

Lady Elinor tossed her head. “I could have had my chance,” she said archly. “But Cadmus was a bit of a rakehell as a prince, and I begged my Mum to say no.”

“I, for one, am grateful that you begged your mum to say no,” Harry muttered with a disturbed expression.

“Despite this mess, I’m grateful, too,” Hermione agreed with a moue of distaste.

“How will we get to Albion to fix this bluidy mess?” Lady Minerva demanded.

“Do you have the large gliders, Lady Elinor?” Harry asked.

“We have three,” Lady Elinor admitted.

“Could we borrow one?” Harry waved at all of them. “We should be able to take all of you, Healer Malfoy, Daphne, Fay, Oliver, and a few guards for Lady Elinor.”

“Who’s going to fly the thing?” Lady Minerva asked tartly.

“Neville and I will,” Harry explained. “We did it quite a few times during the war. At least this time, no one will be trying to make us crash.”

“When can we leave?” Lady Elinor asked with a calculating look.

“A couple of hours should be enough time to load the plane and do the pre-flight checklist,” Harry replied.

“Very well,” Lady Elinor agreed. She glanced at the McGonagall and Hermione. “We’d better spread the word.”

“Yes, Lady Elinor,” Hermione murmured. She darted forward and kissed her mother on the cheek. “It will be alright, Mum.”

“It’s not your job to comfort me,” Lady Minerva huffed. “It’s my job to comfort you.”

“I’m an adult, Mum,” Hermione reminded her. “We’ll take turns.”

“Hmph.”

It took the efficient and competent staff of Castle Ross hardly any time at all to load the large glider with everything they would need at the Palace of Ross. Lady Elinor oversaw everything with Ferquhard at her elbow, glaring everyone into submission. Fay and Oliver oversaw all of Hermione’s and Lady Minerva’s things.

“We’re ready,” Fay announced. “Let’s get you on board, My Lady.”

“Do we have to fly?” Hermione asked anxiously.

“It will be fine, My Lady, I promise,” Fay soothed. “His Highness is an excellent glider pilot. Even when Death Eaters managed to shoot off both of his wings, he still managed to land a glider safely.”

“Is that supposed to comfort me?” Hermione asked.

“Yes,” Fay replied calmly. “His Highness would never let anything happen to you. Now get on the glider.”

“Fine,” Hermione huffed and walked through the glider’s doors.

Once everyone was aboard, Harry and Neville were ready to take the glider into the air. Hermione gripped the arms of her seat so tightly her knuckles were white. As a child, Hermione had never ridden in a glider because they didn’t do well in the higher reaches of the Spine. As the Heiress of Ross and Urquahart, and the future Queen of Albion, it was considered important for her to learn about the peoples and lands of Albion, and she had traveled mostly by horse.

“I’ve been flying in gliders all my life,” Lady Elinor said as she leaned back into her chair. “Your prince is one of the best pilots I’ve ever seen. Just relax, dear.”

“It isn’t that I don’t trust His Highness,” Hermione protested. “It’s more that I don’t like being this high off the ground.”

“You live in the highest reaches of the Spine,” Lady Elinor protested. “How can you scale those mountains to visit crofters, and balk at riding in a nice, comfortable glider?”

“In the Spine, I have the earth under my feet,” Hermione countered. “The mountains and the trees surround me.”

“It is different in the Spine,” Fay agreed. She shuddered and shook her head. “I’ll never forget when I traveled to Gryffindor Tower for training. All that open, flat land for miles–hardly a tree in sight, and the ones that were there were scrawny, scrubby little things. It was so unnerving.”

“We can’t all have trees that are so tall that they tower over your stronghold,” Daphne scoffed from her seat. “Besides, I like being able to see if anyone is coming.”

“If they survive the Spine long enough to make it Catspaw, they deserve to be heard at the very least,” Lady Minerva observed with a sharp smile.

“Aye,” Fay agreed. “We don’t usually allow gliders to stop at Catspaw–during the war we had a ban on them, just in case. If you attempted to get to Catspaw on a plains horse… the poor thing would falter in a couple of days. It takes a mountain pony to climb the Spine.”

“I love flying,” Healer Malfoy offered from his seat. He gave Hermione a slight half-smile. “Sometimes the expectations of one’s position can wear on one. In a glider, with blue skies above me and Albion spread out below… it can be very freeing.”

“I suppose,” Hermione agreed reluctantly. “When I need space to breathe, I go up to the _Bàrr na Cruinne_ to think. There’s a beautiful view of the mountains and the glens of the Spine from there.”

“Harry loves to fly,” Daphne added with a cautious glance toward the cockpit. “He and Draco used to race one another in the small gliders above the palace during the War, until they scared the citizenry who thought we were under attack. I thought that the Queen-Consort was going to throttle him, she was so furious.”

“Queen Lily has always been conscious of the image that his highness displays to the citizens of Albion,” Hermione murmured. She glanced at the McGonagall and then at Lady Elinor. “It’s my understanding that the Gryffindor line tends to a certain level of… erm, vitality?”

Lady Elinor snorted loudly. “A bunch of rowdy troublemakers. It makes one wonder what kind of trouble the Lord of Light must have been.”

“Trouble, Lady Elinor?” Healer Malfoy asked. Lady Elinor gave him a pointed look.

“You have met His Highness, and I am sure you have also met His Majesty,” Lady Elinor said drily. “You know exactly what I mean.”

A light blush spread over Healer Malfoy’s cheeks.

“I would rather not speak ill of my liege,” Healer Malfoy protested.

“You don’t need to say a word, lad,” Lady Elinor said knowingly. “We’re well aware of what kind of men the Gryffindor line produces.”

“It had to start somewhere,” Lady Minerva added with a firm nod. “It wouldn’t surprise me at all to learn that Godric Gryffindor was just like the rest of them.”

“Mum!” Hermione protested. She frowned at her mother. “It must have taken a strong will to unite the people of Albion under one banner.”

“Lord of Light,” Fay muttered and shook her head.

“What?” Hermione demanded. She gripped the arms of her chair. “Is it the glider? Are we going to crash?”

“Lady Hermione, the glider is fine,” Healer Malfoy assured her. “We are in no danger of crashing, I swear to you.”

“I beg your pardon, My Lady,” Fay said. “I was thinking of something. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“What were you thinking?” Hermione asked, hoping to distract herself.

“That Albion isn’t ready for children that have His Highness’ strong will and your stubbornness,” Fay replied with smirk.

“You are a terrible vassal,” Hermione grumbled.

“The worst, My Lady,” Fay agreed. She nodded toward the window. “Don’t look now, but we’ve just landed at the Palace.”

“We’re there already?” Hermione said in surprise.

“There is a reason that people use gliders, my sweeting,” Lady Minerva said drily.

The doors to the cockpit opened, and Harry stepped through into the seating area. He glanced at all of them and then focused his attention on Hermione.

“Are you ready, My Lady?” Harry asked. He held out a hand to Hermione, to help her up from her seat.

“As ready as can be expected,” she sighed, but she placed her hand in Harry’s. His fingers tightened on hers.

“It will all work out fine,” he murmured encouragingly. Hermione turned to stare at him incredulously. He grinned and shrugged. “You could always set them all on fire.”

“That idea has merit,” Hermione muttered.

“Hermione, under no circumstances are you to set the King of Albion on fire,” Lady Minerva protested. “As your mother, I claim first crack at him.”

“Of course, Mum,” Hermione agreed with a sharp-edged smile.

“And _that_ is why people try to avoid pissing off the clan McGonagall,” Fay told Daphne.

“That’s not all McGonagall,” Lady Elinor countered with a sniff. “There’s a fair bit of Ross in there as well.”

“Oh, aye.” Oliver nodded. “Red Alys Ross was the terror of the Spine in her day.”

“Indeed she was,” Lady Elinor agreed. “Now help me up, lad. I have a king to yell at.”

 


	11. Hermione's Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione returns to the Palace where she spent most of her childhood.

~Hermione’s Return~

 

 

“Where do we need to go first?” Hermione asked.

Lady Elinor pressed her lips together.

“As tempting as it would be to storm the royal apartments, the royal guard would probably feel compelled to stop us,” Lady Elinor sighed. She turned to look at Hermione and Lady Minerva. “I think it would be best if the both of you stayed in the Ross apartments with me.”

“Wait,” Harry protested. “Why wouldn’t Hermione stay in her rooms? We’ve never reassigned them.”

“If I stay in the rooms assigned to your betrothed, it only reinforces his majesty’s proclamation,” Hermione pointed out. She reached out and put her hand on his arm. The muscles under her fingers were tense. “We need to straighten this out first, Harry.”

“Which means we have to go back to 'Your Highness,' doesn’t it,” Harry demanded. His jaw tightened and he averted his gaze away from all of them. A breeze that seemed to come from nowhere ruffled his hair. He took a deep breath in and let it out slowly.

“Hey,” Hermione said softly. She touched his jaw with the tips of her fingers. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m with you, my prince, every step of the way – even if I can’t stand by your side.”

Harry closed his eyes and turned his head to kiss the tips of her fingers.

“I hate this,” he muttered his lips brushing against her skin.

Separation from Harry wasn’t what Hermione wanted, but she understood the flows of power that had gotten tangled up in her possible betrothal to the Crown Prince of Albion. If they didn’t unsnarl this mess now, it could have various future repercussions that may affect Harry’s eventual reign, or even their children, and Hermione wasn’t going to let that happen. That didn’t mean that she wasn’t upset, or that she wouldn’t miss Harry. Carefully, she tugged her McGonagall medallion out of her shirt.

“Here,” she said as she pulled it over her neck.

“No!” Herself protested. “Hermione, you can’t–”

“Mum,” Hermione said firmly. She turned to face Harry. “I want you to wear this until you can give it back to me.”

“What is it?” Harry asked with a frown.

“It’s the most valuable thing I own,” Hermione said honestly.

“Hermione.” Herself pulled out a handkerchief and sniffled into it.

Hermione stepped away from Harry to hug her mother tightly.

“It’s true, Mum,” Hermione whispered into Lady Minerva’s shoulder.

“It’s a tradition in the Spine,” Lady Elinor explained to Harry. “Legend says that when Godric went to the Spine, he was humbled by their bravery and heartiness. He gave each chieftain who fought under his banner a medallion—recognizing their heroism. She’s just given you the McGonagall medallion. It’s a priceless treasure to her clan, and to be entrusted with it is to be entrusted with the honour of the entire clan McGonagall.”

“Hermione, no,” Harry protested immediately, holding the medallion out in front of him. “I can’t.”

“You are the Heir of Gryffindor,” Hermione reminded him, closing his fingers around the medallion. “I am the Heir of McGonagall. It seems right and fitting that you should carry this for me. I  _ trust _ in you, Harry. What’s more, I trust in  _ us _ .”

Despite the fact that her great-grandmother and her mother were standing right next to them, Harry pulled her into his arms and slanted his mouth over hers. Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back, hoping that he would feel how much she loved him, and carry that with him while they figured out how to fix this situation. Harry’s fingers tightened on her hips, biting into her skin.

Reluctantly, Harry let go of her. He reached up and touched her cheek with gentle fingers. Hermione leaned her cheek against his palm and smiled up at him. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss against her forehead.

“Take care of yourself,” he reminded her. “You’re still recovering from Manifestation sickness. Do everything that Draco tells you. I know some of his concoctions are foul, but they do work. I made sure that he knows about your  _ kythyr _ allergy. Let Daphne help you. I know she’s a lowlander, and not from the Spine, but she’s one of the best.”

“You do the same,” Hermione countered with a raised eyebrow. “Talk to Her Majesty. I’m sure Queen Lily has a plan. Make sure that you eat and drink when you need to do so. Don’t exhaust yourself. Don’t get so mad that you flip the Council table again.”

“You heard about that?” Harry asked. A dull flush spread up his neck and turned his ears pink.

“The Spine may be isolated, but we aren’t entirely cut off from the world, my prince,” Hermione replied with a laugh.

“We should go,” Lady Elinor said with a glance down the long hall. “The longer we linger here, the more likely it is that someone will see us, and that will ruin any possible plans that Her Majesty might have thought up.”

“Yes, My Lady,” Hermione murmured. She glanced at Harry, who nodded.

“I’ll go,” he murmured.

With careful reverence, he put the McGonagall medallion over his head and tucked it into his shirt. He turned to look at Hermione and his eyes darkened with burning intensity. Then he turned and stalked down the hall. Hermione almost started after him, but Lady Minerva grabbed her hand.

“Come on, my sweeting,” Lady Minerva murmured. “We have traps to lay.”

Their group turned and walked down the hall in the exact opposite direction from the Crown Prince. Every step made her chest tighten just a bit more, until she was panting to catch her breath. Fay was by her side in an instant.

“Breathe with me, My Lady,” Fay ordered. Hermione nodded and matched her breaths to Fay’s. “Good. Just like that, My Lady.”

Quickly, they made their way to the Ross apartments. As a holder of a permanent seat on the Crown Council, the House of Ross had permanent apartments within the Palace. Lady Elinor stayed in the apartments whenever the Crown Council was in session. They were spacious apartments, and there were several bedrooms, but Daphne, Fay, and Hermione were sharing a bedroom again.

Manifestation sickness could vary from person to person, and it made practical sense for Daphne and Fay to stay close to Hermione in case she needed help. Her control over her Gift grew with each day, but strong emotions could overpower her will and if that occurred, her Gift might go wild—something everyone wanted to avoid at all costs.

Even though the McGonagall Gift was pyrokinesis, they hadn’t produced a pyrokinetic Prime in generations. 

“If it’s alright with you, Lady Hermione, there are a few things I need to do,” Daphne said once they’d put their things away.

“I’m going to stay here in the Ross apartments,” Hermione stated. “Technically, I am here as the Ross Heiress. Lady Elinor will insist on a formal investiture in front of the Crown Council. I’ll only leave the apartments if Lady Elinor does, and she plans on hiding in here and driving Malcolm Urquart crazy.”

“I’ll stay with my Lady,” Fay added. “If I’m not with her, Oliver will be. We won’t leave her unattended. Not here.”

Daphne’s face paled and she visibly swallowed.

“You mentioned assassination attempts,” Daphne murmured. “I know there was an attempt at Slytherin Tower, I just…  _ bloody hell _ . I need to talk to Draco.”

“I’ll need to speak to the Ross guards so they know to let you in, and to expect Draco,” Hermione said. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

The guards in the hall outside the Ross apartments both gave Hermione a respectful nod.

“Lady Hermione,” one of them greeted her. He glanced at Daphne and then focused on Hermione. “Are you leaving the apartments?”

“No, Alastor,” Hermione said with a shake of her head. She gestured to Daphne. “Lady Daphne Greengrass will be staying here as a guest of the House of Ross. She is to be allowed access to the Ross apartments. In addition, Healer Draco Malfoy has been my attending Healer during my Manifestation sickness. If he comes to check on me, please let me know.”

“Of course, Lady Hermione,” Alastor replied with a bow.

“I’ll be back as quickly as I can, Lady Hermione,” Daphne murmured.

“Take your time, Lady Daphne,” Hermione replied. “I’m sure you must have friends in the palace.”

When Hermione returned to her room, Fay was sitting on her bed sharpening her knives. Hermione sighed and sat on her own bed. She pulled out her dirk and her  _ biodag-achlais _ and laid them out on the bed. She dug through her bags for her whetstone. Soon the slow slide of steel against a whetstone was the only sound in the room.

“You’re worried,” Hermione murmured.

“Of course I’m worried, My Lady,” Fay replied. “You are my liege. Your safety is my primary concern, and outside the Spine… the risk to your safety increases exponentially.”

“When I’m the Princess of Albion, I’ll be required to stay at the Palace for at least part of the year,” Hermione reminded Fay.

“Aye, and you’ll have a host of braw laddies guarding your every move,” Fay countered with a pointed look. “Until then, you’ve only Oliver and me. We have people coming, but they won’t be here for a few days.”

“We can’t fit too many more into the apartments,” Hermione protested. “Where are we going to put them?”

“The House of Ross maintains a house in Godric’s Hollow,” Fay said with a shrug. “Lady Elinor agreed to let them stay there.”

“When did this happen?” Hermione asked in surprise.

“Oliver spoke to Lady Elinor and Herself while we were putting this room to rights. He updated me when you were walking Daphne to the door,” Fay explained.

“I imagined my return to the Palace going a little differently,” Hermione said with a sigh.

“I know, my lady,” Fay murmured. She paused and watched Hermione for a moment. “Don’t forget your  _ sgian-dubh _ .”

“I won’t.” Hermione pulled the small knife out of her boot, and added it to the small pile of knives on her bed.

For the next couple of days, Hermione remained secluded in the Ross apartments. When a small group of McGonagalls and Dunbars showed up at the Ross apartments, Hermione was ready to kiss and hug every single one of them. Lady Elinor and the McGonagall agreed that twenty kinsmen, Fay, and Oliver were guard enough for the Heiress of Ross.

“I feel like an oath breaker,” Hermione complained as she tugged at the clothes that Fay had shoved at her.

“You are wearing the Dunbar tartan with my whole-hearted permission,” Fay said drily.

“Who is even going to know that it’s Dunbar?” Hermione asked. “You know these lowlanders can’t tell a MacMillan from a McKinnon.”

“We’re not worried about lowlanders,” Oliver spoke up.

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked with a frown. She looked from Fay to Oliver. “Urquart?”

“Aye,” Oliver agreed with a nod. “But he isn’t the only one. Several of Ginevra’s brothers serve in the King’s guard. I know Charlie Weasley, but I haven’t spoken to him in years. I don’t think he’d do anything, but his younger brothers are considered hotheads. I’d rather be cautious with my Lady’s safety.”

“So I pretend to be a Dunbar for a day?” Hermione asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Being a Dunbar for one day is more than the poor sods that never get to be a Dunbar at all,” one of Fay’s men said, and the kinsmen surrounding them snickered.

“Being a McGonagall is fine enough for me on a given day, but I’ll try to enjoy the honour of it all while I can,” Hermione retorted and then the McGonagalls surrounding her began to chortle.

“Let’s go,” Oliver sighed.

“Keep your head down, my lady,” Fay warned her.

They traveled swiftly through the halls of the palace. Hermione had wandered through the palace since she was a child. She knew it as well as she knew Catspaw. Once they were on the streets of Godric’s Hollow, the kinsmen surrounded Hermione in a close formation. Fay was at her back and Oliver was in front, his eyes constantly scanning.

“We need to get her off the streets,” Oliver muttered.

The house was in an obviously fashionable part of Godric’s Hollow. Sleek carriages and men and women in court dress bustled down the road. It wasn’t as ostentatious as some of the houses on the street, but Hermione suspected that that was intentional.

“Is there a courtyard?” Hermione asked. “I haven’t trained in days. I’d like to stretch, and perhaps get some practice.”

“There is a small salle on the back of the house,” Oliver said.

For several hours, Hermione was able to exercise with Fay. When the McGonagall arrived, they all gathered back in the house. Hermione tugged self-consciously at the Dunbar tartan.

“Don’t worry about it, Hermione,” Lady Minerva said shaking her head. “It’s necessary at the moment.”

“Why are you here, Mum,” Hermione asked. “What’s going on?”

“The Crown Council is going to convene this afternoon. Our priority is having you officially recognized by the Crown as the chosen Heiress of Ross. We expect Lord Malcolm to lodge a formal protest and try to claim you for Urquart,” Lady Minerva explained carefully. “You are going to need to keep your temper, Hermione. No matter what that idiot, Malcolm Urquart, says.”

“What about the proclamation?” Hermione asked frowning anxiously.

“Lady Elinor has already lodged a formal protest, citing the fact that she was not consulted, and that you are her official Heiress,” Lady Minerva replied. “If His Majesty behaves himself, he’ll retract the proclamation.”

“Are heirs allowed to attend?” Hermione chewed on her lower lip. “It isn’t a closed session, is it?”

“It’s an open session,” Minerva confirmed with a grimace. “Which means that His Highness will be there, too.  _ Try _ not to give the whole game away, sweeting.”

“I know, Mum,” Hermione protested. “That means court dress, doesn’t it?”

“Aye,” Mum said. “We should head back so that we can get ready. I found your old court dresses, and I think they’ll fit. We’ll have to get a new set made up for you.”

A smaller group of kinsmen returned to the Palace, leaving some of them behind to secure their temporary home. Fay pulled out Hermione’s old court dress and hung it on the door of her wardrobe. They both stared at it for a long moment. The gown itself was still serviceable. Court dress was a specific uniform that didn’t really change from decade to decade. There wasn’t any embroidery that hinted at Urquart, or even Ross. It was fairly generic, which served their purpose.

“I think… Herself… was a little… optimistic,” Fay panted out between grunts as she tugged on the stays for Hermione’s gown. She planted her foot firmly on Hermione’s arse and  _ pulled _ . “There!”

The gown still fit. Mostly. Hermione’s hips and breasts were a little fuller than they’d been when she was a teenager. The stiff collar and neckline of the court dress created daring cleavage, and Fay’s hard work had paid off in spades. Hermione stared at herself in the mirror and blushed.

“I don’t know, Fay,” Hermione protested as she twisted and turned in front of the mirror.

“Hermione, there you are.” Lady Elinor entered the room and looked her over with a critical eye. “Can you breathe, dear?”

“Yes,” Hermione said. “It’s not as… as bad as it looks.”

“Bad?” Lady Elinor laughed in delight. “That poor boy won’t know what hit him. There you’ll sit, the prim and proper Heiress of Ross, and he won’t be able to touch.”

“Great-grandmother,” Hermione protested.

“I do hope Sirius is there,” Lady Elinor continued with a smirk at Fay. “He’ll feel horribly guilty, denying Harry all of, well, that.” Lady Elinor waved a hand at Hermione.

“Let’s go,” Hermione muttered. “We don’t want to be late.”

“Heavens, no,” Lady Elinor agreed. “I can’t wait to see their faces.”

As they made their way to the Crown Council, they drew curious glances and whispers followed their footsteps. Hermione tilted her chin up and pressed her lips together. Gossip and rumour had been a part of her life for longer than she could remember. This would be nothing compared to the last 10 years.

The doors to the Crown Council were thrown open, and Lady Elinor sailed through them with an air of confidence and assurance that Hermione envied. She followed closely in Lady Elinor’s footsteps, which was her duty as Heiress of Ross. Lady Elinor nodded at a couple of people who were sitting in the public gallery. Most of the Council members Hermione recognized on sight. She had spent a lot of time in the Crown Council chamber as a child.

“Salazar’s toes,” Daphne exclaimed as she walked up to them. “You look positively delicious, Lady Hermione.”

“You are still incorrigible, Lady Daphne,” Hermione retorted. Daphne leaned forward and gave her a hard, swift kiss. Hermione blinked when Daphne pulled back.

“I find that people work best with some kind of incentive,” Daphne explained with a shrug.

“His Highness just walked in,” Fay reported in a hushed whisper. “He does not appear amused.”

“I need to go to the public gallery,” Daphne said with a cheeky little smile. “Everyone will wonder who the mysterious beauty in the public gallery is, and whether or not I’m in a relationship with the Heiress of Ross. I wonder how many people will ask me if we’re looking for a man to contract with for an heir.”

“Far too many,” Hermione stated with a scowl. “I can’t tell you how many men offered to father an heir for me back when the only title I held was Young McGonagall.”

“Not so many the first year,” Fay said. She shrugged. “I think people were trying to be polite. This last year though… I think it was fifty-three different offers.”

Daphne’s jaw dropped open.

“ _ Fifty-three _ offers?” Her voice rose in surprise.

“Aye,” Fay replied in a calm, matter-of-fact voice. “My lady is well-respected in the Spine.”

“Go sit down, dear,” Lady Elinor said with a little shooing motion at Daphne. “They’re about to ring the bells. Come along, Hermione.”

Just as Hermione sat down in the heir’s seat next to the Lady of Ross, the bells rang. The huge doors of the Crown Council were slowly closed. A royal herald made his way to the middle of the room and unrolled his scroll. He cleared his throat and then looked out over the room.

“People of Albion, rise for His Majesty, King James IV. Lord of Light, give him the bravery to choose the hard path. Lady of Wisdom, give him the ability to discern the truth. Lord of Cunning, give him the ability to see all sides of an issue. Lady of Bounty, give him mercy and clemency for the unfortunate,” the herald intoned.

King James, followed by his King-Consort, Sirius Black, entered the room. He made his way to the royal box. Hermione had to give him credit. If she hadn’t known him so well, she wouldn’t have noticed the falter in his step when he spotted her. His eyes widened almost imperceptibly, and then he continued on. King-Consort Sirius had never laid any claim to subtlety. He stared at her in stunned shock, and he only sat when His Majesty tugged his husband to sit on the bench next to him.

“This session of the Crown Council is now open,” King James announced in clear, ringing tones. He turned to the herald. “What is our first matter of business?”

“The House of Ross has officially chosen its Heiress. Lady Elinor requests that the Crown recognize Lady Hermione McGonagall as the official Heiress of Ross,” the herald replied.

“Lady Elinor.” King James gestured to the Lady of Ross. “The floor is yours.”

“Thank you, your majesty,” Lady Elinor replied with an icy coolness that made his majesty wince. “It is most likely no surprise to anyone that Lady Hermione was able to touch the Heart of Ross. The House of Ross declares her our official Heiress. We ask that the Crown recognize that the Lady Hermione is a member of the House of Ross, and is our official Heiress.”

King James visibly took a deep breath. “The Crown recognizes the sanctity of the Heart of Ross, and we congratulate the House of Ross on choosing an official Heiress.”

“Thank you, your majesty,” Lady Elinor said with a sweet smile. “That brings the House of Ross to its next concern. Filius, dear?”

The herald cleared his throat and held up his scroll again.

“The House of Ross has lodged a formal complaint against the Crown of Albion, King James IV, King-Consort Sirius, and any other…” here, the herald faltered. He swallowed and turned to Lady Elinor who was smiling beatifically.

“Do continue, Filius dear,” Lady Elinor encouraged him. The herald turned back to his scroll with a miserable expression.

“And any other idiot who was stupid enough to meddle in the affairs of the House of Ross. The betrothal of the Heiress of Ross must be approved by the Lady of Ross, and Lady Elinor contests that she was not consulted. Furthermore, as the Heiress of Ross, the Lady Hermione’s betrothal must be ratified by the Crown Council. Lady Elinor stringently protests that the proper steps were not followed, which the House of Ross feels is insult to our Heiress’s honour,” the herald read off dutifully.

“Lady Elinor,” King James sighed. “The Crown apologizes for any slight against your person, the House of Ross, or your Heiress. We were operating under incomplete information, and your House suffered for it.”

“That could have been avoided completely if you had bothered to speak with either the Heiress of Ross, or her mother, the McGonagall of Catspaw,” Lady Elinor retorted tartly. “We demand that the proclamation and its betrothal be rescinded.”

“Wait just a minute,” Lord Malcolm protested. “The House of Urquart would like to renew Lady Hermione’s heirship, and we are happy to leave the betrothal in place.”

“You already have an Heiress, you obnoxious prig,” Lady Elinor snapped. She turned to glare at King James. “The House of Ross  _ vehemently _ protests this action.”

“I have just as much right to the girl as you have,” Lord Malcolm argued.

Suddenly, the wall hangings of the Crown Council chamber caught fire. Hermione had risen to her feet and she was glaring at Lord Malcolm furiously. Her hands were fisted at her sides to keep her hands from shaking.

“How dare you,” Hermione hissed. “I’m your granddaughter, not some piece of land!”

“You watch your tone with me, young lady,” Lord Malcolm snapped. He waved at hand at the wall hangings. “A ridiculous display like this is not going to sway me.”

“She’s newly Gifted you dolt!” Lady Elinor shrieked. She turned to King James. “You! This is all your fault! Will the Crown allow Lady Hermione to withdraw from the session to calm down?”

“Of course, Lady Elinor,” King James agreed immediately. “We can table this matter and reschedule it for a later date. Lady Dunbar, you can take your liege lady into one of the side chambers.”

“My lady,” Fay murmured from Hermione’s side. “Come with me.”

Gently, Fay guided Hermione to a small side room that was rarely used. There were a couple of chairs in the room, and Hermione sat down gratefully. Tearlach followed Oliver into the room. Oliver knelt in front of Hermione.

“Focus on the walls, Tearlach,” Fay directed her kinsman. “She’s still upset, and there’s a shimmer of heat around her.”

“What about her chair, your ladyship?” Tearlach asked hesitantly.

“Yes, of course,” Fay replied shaking her head. “Do the chairs. Then the walls. Thank you, lad.”

“How are you feeling?” Oliver asked Hermione.

“Furious,” Hermione admitted. She took a deep breath and let it out shakily. Two fat tears slipped down her cheeks. “Like I could cheerfully set Lord Malcolm on fire.”

“I can’t blame my lady there,” Oliver muttered. He took her hands gently. “Can you focus your fire, or does it feel… jumbly?”

Another deep breath and Hermione closed her eyes, feeling for her fire. It came to her easily, almost eagerly. Hermione tightened her control, and her fire settled easily.

“I can focus it,” Hermione said with quiet confidence.

“Very good, My Lady.” Oliver sighed in relief. “Let’s take a few minutes to let you relax.”

“Herself is going to chew Lord Malcolm up and spit him out,” Fay muttered with dark satisfaction.

“You’re supposed to be calming Her Ladyship, not riling her up,” Oliver reminded Fay.

“Well she is,” Fay grumbled.

“Aye and the sky is blue. Now focus on helping her ladyship,” Oliver retorted.


End file.
